Zen Comedy

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Eugene Binx

Contents Chapter One - Auntie Knows Best.................................................................................2 Chapter Two - The Natives are friendly ......................................................................11 Chapter Three - The opening of the Two Buttocks .....................................................20 Chapter Four - Xmas is for giving ...............................................................................27 Chapter Five - Three Comedians and a Funeral ..........................................................45 Chapter Six - Back to Work.........................................................................................56 Chapter Seven - The out of Towners ...........................................................................60 Chapter Eight - Valentine’s Day Fiasco ......................................................................74 Chapter Nine - Enter Mr. Patel Centre Stage...............................................................90 Chapter Ten - Three Comedians and another Funeral, but the Show must go on. ....103 Chapter Eleven - Hello Sailor ....................................................................................114 Chapter Twelve - What a Difference a Week Makes ................................................137 Chapter Thirteen - No Free Lunches .........................................................................147

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Zen and the Art of Stand-up Comedy

Chapter One - Auntie Knows Best

Ernest and Katie Needle were both at work; the fact that it was a Friday would lead them through their routine for the day and carry them into their weekend. They had both started work in McNaughton’s London Brewery during the Swinging Sixties. Now heading towards retirement they moved like cogs within a giant machine. Having to pass a fish and chip shop on his way home from work and a local pub reminded Ernest, that God did at least create a perfect World for him. Katie was married to a merchant seaman when she first started in the wages office; they had married young and he had enjoyed sex on a global scale before it killed him. She was hard and had wasted no time in next marching Ernest up the steps of the local registry office. The fact that he was shortly to inherit his hospitalised mother’s house was the biggest turn on to be had within the brewery workforce. Katie had still lived at the time with her large family, all-waiting for Sinbad as they called him to return bearing gifts; he never did. So she instead had to suffer Ernest. The old horn that brought the day shift to a close caused the usual Friday jokes. Katie would make her way home ahead of Ernest, as she was office staff; tonight however having to consider a pleading phone call she had received that day from her sister. Katie knew how to tell her husband of the call. She would just wait until he was stuffing his face with the Friday night carrier bag full of stodge from the chip shop, washed down with a large bottle of McNaughton’s Light Ale. With his short concentration span, if she talked slowly enough, he would never know what he had agreed on. Her plan worked, Ernest was only alerted to the news that their Nephew would be in the East End the next day and how nice it would be to see him, but not that Nineteen-year-old Norman Smith was to be their first lodger. In fact, he would be the first person ever to invade the private world of Ernest and Katie. Norman had been adopted by Katie’s sister Lucy and husband Frank Junior Smith. He had been found during the clean up after a rock festival. The Police could not be sure if he was abandoned or his Parents had just got stoned and forgot they had a baby, possibly wandered back to the wrong tent and started another life. He was rapped in a patchwork quilt made up of rock star portraits, as the centrepiece was Frank Zappa the Police named him Frank. That name caught the attention of Frank Junior Smith as he toured an orphanage with wife Lucy some years later, looking for a son and heir to their Council flat in Birmingham. Lucy however insisted on the

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name change, so Norman Frank Junior Smith was reborn out of compromise. Ernest would annoy Katie by referring to their nephew as Glastonbury. The cause of Norman now being shipped off to London was of, “A rather delicate nature,” Lucy had explained. “Norman has been having improper relations with our next door neighbour and only whilst her husband is away fighting in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces!” “Isn’t that treason?” asked Katie in a startled tone. “No, but it would be if my Frank was King.” The couple embarrassed by Norman’s actions and fearing a quick end to the war gave him two choices; he fancied the staying alive one. Lucy had even offered Katie money knowing that would appeal to Ernest. Following on from his Friday night stodge, Ernest fell asleep in his easy chair. He was a thin short man, untidy dark and grey hair, with a dress sense with which he would have looked at home in a silent movie. Katie dozed off in their bed upstairs. This was always the prelude to Friday night out at their Friday night local, which involved just coming out the front door and turning right. Unlike their Saturday night out at their Saturday night local, which involved just coming out of their front door and turning left. From 9 o’clock they took part in a real old East End knees up, Ernest loved it. Katie played cards with the ladies from the office; however this night she thought long and hard about how life might be with Norman the Nephew in tow. The evening slipped by as usual, Paddy the pub landlord pleading with Ernest later-on to make his way, “Down the yellow chip road and not to take sweets from strangers, only money.” Paddy always used the law as his excuse to close. Once back home Katie and Ernest were soon tucked up in bed, he comatose, she now panicking about the dawning of the next day that would bring the end to their timeless and exclusive routine. She did eventually fall asleep only to wake to the sound of her alarm clock. It was 9am the start of Katie’s Saturday morning two-hour bathroom makeover. She was still an attractive woman and loved this time of each week like no other. She pampered herself and sometimes in a sexual manner. In the bath she heard and felt their door buzzer. It sounded like the ones used on the old television quiz shows. Ernest on hearing it buzz and to his amusement only would shout out the answer to an imaginary quiz question, “Aborigines,” he shouted loudly as he made his way to the door.

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Katie, curious as to why so much conversation was taking place, got out of the bath. She slithered still wet and soapy into her silk-look dressing gown. Her head appeared round the bathroom door, from where she could look straight down the stairs. Strange at first she thought, ‘No daylight showing up the damp patches on the flowery wallpaper; was the front door open, she strained to see beyond the cowering frame of Ernest. As if wedged into their doorway, Katie saw an almost rectangular shape. Without her glasses she squinted long and hard before making out the smiling face of a young man near the top of the doorframe. “Who is it Ernest,” she enquired in her haughty tone. “Says he is to lodge with us!” came his shocked reply. With firmness now in her voice, Katie instructed Ernest to show his Nephew Norman into the Front Room. “I will be down shortly,” she advised the pair of them. On returning to the bath, the noises from below as the men attempted to close the front door, open the front room door and move Norman’s enormous suitcase, gave her much cause for concern; she sighed. As Katie reached the bottom of the stairs, she caught sight of Ernest waving frantically from the safety of their lounge-dining room. He gestured it was time he escape to the pub; after all it was what he did Saturday mornings if he was not at work. Avoiding eye contact he hurried out through the back door, leaving it open to lesson the condemnation of his actions. Katie was pleased to see the back of him; she made her way to greet Norman. There in the front room, time had stood still since Ernest’s Parents had only once decorated and furnished it. “We should open this room to the public at weekends,” remarked Katie. “You would need wheelchair access though,” replied Norman. She laughed, “I can tell we will get on like a house on fire, do you smoke?” “Yes please,” he said “Do you drink?” “Just a sherry at Xmas.” “Funny, that’s not what your Mother told me, “I guess Ernest was of no help with that suitcase. He’s a right lazy so and so, but harmless.” In the modest comfort of the front room, Katie and Norman drew hard on their cigarettes in almost a tribal manner. She explained that only her good self made the house rules. His room was at the front of the house, next to theirs, but not to worry, he would not hear any cries of passion coming through the wall. His guided tour of the house included the outside toilet, www.bibliotastic.com

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where he was informed, “That’s the gents’.” Katie had even more startling revelations; she explained how during the summer months the brewery took on temporary staff. Norman would start on Monday. However, she admitted that he would need to pass himself off as a student, “Company policy, sorry,” she said excusing herself, as she pointed to the whereabouts of snack food before going off to her room. Having dressed for her weekly maintenance trip to the graves of her Late In-Laws, Katie waved to Norman, “See you for tea time and just ignore Ernest.” Her words relaxed him; he settled into an armchair in front of their big old television set in the back lounge diner and fell asleep. Just like the classic fictional drunk, Ernest fell through his back door at 3.30. Norman was startled but did not show it, on account of his size he reacted slowly to most things in life. Ernest stumbled round him as if he was a new piece of furniture and made his way up the stairs, “Alright; I Must ‘ave forgot you was coming to stay, excuse me I’m suffering from terminal laziness,” being the only conversation he managed. Katie returned at 5 o’clock. Norman was asleep, but woke with her presence in the room as she handed him a cup of tea and explained the routine for the rest of the weekend. The evening meal as they called it was at 7 o’clock; a meat and veg affair, no pudding, McNaughton’s Light Ale to wash it down for the boys and tea for her good self. This would be followed by tea all round as a final stomach liner before their big Saturday night out. Norman went off to his room. He now unpacked and tried to feel fully at home. Lying on the old double bed he gazed at a new world to him. This was a real afternoon television movie set he thought and perhaps Richard Burton would suddenly walk into the room. After much thought, he heard Katie calling out, “Grubs up.” Ernest must be conditioned to this routine thought Norman as he heard him stir and make his way down the stairs to the dining table. Norman a touch nervous followed on. As he joined the others a chair awaited him at the table, opposite Katie. “Never ad a lodger before,” said Ernest. “Nor me,” replied Norman. That was all the conversation that took place over that meal. After a couple of hours of watching television in silence Ernest went upstairs to put his Saturday night suit on. Katie passed in her Saturday outfit joined Norman on the sofa, “You will come,” she said. “Sure,” he replied, wanting to fit in. He had not changed his clothes since arriving, but his look passed the Katie test or he would have been told.

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When the three of them set off, it was of course out the front door turn left night, Ernest walked out in front leaving the others to walk side-by-side and even break the usual silence. “Ernest has taken being a lert too literally,” pointed out Katie to Norman as she laughed. As they entered the Prince of Wales pub it was as usual, busy and noisy with a happy locals atmosphere noted Norman. At first the crowd went into a bit of a whisper mode. They thought Norman was on his own and his size caused concern to the landlord Charles, “If he gets pissed, you can throw him out,” said Charles’ son Churchill as he pulled a pint for Ernest. Suddenly Norman was being introduced by Katie to one and all. This would be the theme of the evening, as curiosity brought over even those that preferred to socialise in their private clusters. “Welcome to the Prince of Wales, I am Charles the landlord of course and the peoples’ true Prince of Wales,” bellowed a man in his sixties perched at the end of the bar watching all. His beer gut sitting proudly on the counter in front of him. Ernest rose to the occasion like a proud father. It had always been Ernest and Katie, now there were three of them by default and Ernest was even more contented. At first Norman was taken off to sit with his Uncle and some brewery workers. Katie joined her lady friends in a booth, for cards and gossip. As the evening de-generated somewhat Norman got the chance to socialise, no longer under the proud, yet restricting glances of his newfound guardians. First to monopolise him was Nancy Trollope, this caused many heads to turn. “Trollope by name, Trollope by nature,” remarked Katie. The comments addressed to Ernest at his table were pure filth on this subject. Nancy was attractive; she worked in the same office as Katie. She was most kindly referred to as the merry widow. Her late husband Dick had been killed in a tragic accident at the brewery, where he also had worked. He was most well remembered for buying vegetables from the local market, then giving them away to the bosses at the brewery as his home grown. This along with his name and the circumstances of his death provided a constant source of sick humour, not only at the brewery but also at the local pubs. Even this night a pal of Ernest’s commented, “Pity your nephew’s not called Dick, Nancy still loves her dick.” Nancy’s house backed on to Ernest and Katie’s, just separated by their small back gardens and the lane that ran the length of the streets. This meant of course with Ernest and Katie sleeping in their backroom and Nancy in hers, the merry widow had few secrets and no vegetable patch. A pair of

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binoculars once used for nights at the local dog track provided both Ernest and Katie separately with many hours of adult entertainment. The Prince of Wales pub operated flexi-time on a Saturday, so landlord Charles informed his customers throughout the evening. “As long as you spend, we serve,” he croaked on noticing the till had gone silent. He and Churchill would take it in turns serving and stayed open all hours. Katie thinking that it all might be a bit much for Norman on his first night, gathered up first Ernest by the scruff of his collar and then Norman more politely as the clock struck Mid-night. Ernest was in a state of shock walking home sober for the first Saturday night in his life possibly, “Everything looks strange,” he said. Katie wasted no time in giving her nephew the facts of life talk with the substitution of the birds and the bees for a somewhat more graphic Nancy theme. Ernest developed a new saying, “That’s right, your Auntie knows best,” he said in a pure grovel tone. The three bid the local chip-shop owner goodnight as they passed by. “I love that chip shop,” blurted out Ernest, as if he was making a confession. “I know dear and the chip shop loves you,” replied Katie. As the three entered their home, Katie was also confused to be home so early and sober on a Saturday night. She announced to Ernest she would be taking a long un-interrupted bath, followed by an early night with her romantic novel, which would be finished tonight and also without interruption; then she wished Norman goodnight. Ernest seemed relaxed and contented to have company. He sat in his favourite armchair; poured McNaughton’s Ale for the two of them and stretched his braces. “Blokes at work reckon this is a right affidavit if you drink enough.” he said. “Do you mean aphrodisiac uncle?” “Yeah that’s it. Do you like Chas and Dave?” “Don’t know them,” replied Norman. “Gertcha,” sounded the old man. The two watched the latest news on the tele, “You wouldn’t catch me trying to sail round the world in a’rangatang,” commented Ernest with his words now slurred. “Nor me Uncle,” laughed Norman as he headed off for his first night’s sleep under the roof of the Needles. Ernest stumbled his way to the outside toilet. Norman knocked on the bathroom door, “Thanks for everything Auntie Katie,” he shouted through the sound of running water; there was no

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reply. Norman settled into his new bed, great he thought, this life is so easy and with a feeling of total security he fell asleep. 6 am. Sunday, Norman woke up with the fear of God in him. “What the fuck am I doing here,” he asked himself. It had dawned on him, that this was not the morning after the night before, more a case of the first day of the rest of his life. He took deep breaths to fight off an anxiety attack, then he managed to put things into perspective in his head. He reasoned with himself, he could just treat this situation like a working holiday with relatives. It did not have to be more than that. He thought about moving on after the summer, an old school mate Chris Mason worked as a waiter on the cruise ships, “That’s it he muttered, I will go to sea, move on from here, why not. I must send him an E-mail, an S.O.S. must be a Cyber Café round here somewhere.” They had been best friends all through school; it was their almost identical heights that had caused the bond. Chris the adventurer of the two had left school as soon as the chance came, leaving Norman to then concentrate and throw himself into years of endless exams. Chris went off in search of fun, he had told Norman, ‘The minute you take life seriously, it’s over.’ Norman had missed Chris; having found a possible way out of his predicament he dozed off again. Katie took Norman in a cup of tea, waking him at ten. He needed coffee but made do. Sunday would be another day of unfaltering routine. Ernest would take his bath in the morning; then scatter his toenail clippings over the garden. “It’s good for the soil,” he informed Norman. “Must be right, Bloke in the Pub told me.” Katie sighed, she prepared the lunch before they set off to the pub. This session of the week was spent at the Hercules after a few introductions including the landlord Paddy who was not actually Irish, Norman found himself under the spell of the merry widow. The seat beside her was the only vacant seat ever it seemed, however he was in fact glad of her company, most present were much older than he. Nancy was, ‘Thirty something,’ she insisted; Katie in fact only knew her age and a sworn pact kept both their ages a secret. Both curvaceous blondes, they looked and acted like real cockney sisters. Nancy warned Norman he was in for a boring day at his new home. Sunday evening was the only night of the week that both Ernest and Katie stayed in. “I think they have sex on Sundays,” she joked, then watched his reaction, he looked away. “Sorry, but imagine it,” she laughed; so did he. They continued to talk, laugh and enjoy each other’s company. Nancy suggested they should meet up that evening, if only to stop Norman feeling perhaps the odd man out at home. He thought perhaps he ought to give Ernest and Katie some privacy and agreed. Katie marched her two men out of the pub at 3 o’clock sharp. Within minutes of their arriving back home, the Sunday roast was served. A bottle www.bibliotastic.com

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of McNaughton’s Ale sat in the centre of the table, “Wine of the hop,” announced Norman. This remark went over the head of Ernest, but not Katie, she loved her crosswords. After a huge meal, Ernest returned from a long visit to the outside toilet, switched on the news channel and dozed off. Katie remarked how little Ernest knew, considering how many hours he spent in front of that, “Flaming news channel.” After Norman had helped Katie with the washing up, she announced Sunday afternoons were spent alone in her room. Norman suggested he could use a bath before having a walk, “To check out the area, perhaps locate the brewery,” he added. Katie handed him over his own front door key. He explained that he would most likely have a few beers that evening, “Get to know a few of the natives perhaps he gestured.” “Get to know Nancy more like,” she smiled and repeated some warnings regarding the merry widow. Norman took a short sleep before his bath, and then left the house still dressed in the clothes he had arrived in. On his way towards the brewery he passed Nancy’s front door, the house looked more modern than the others in the terraced street. Blinds not curtains, with modern light fittings showing through and a skylight set into the front of her roof. McNaughton’s Brewery gates were large and padlocked. Floodlights added to the bright early evening sun to give it the appearance through the steam of a space ship landing. Norman was glad to have his plan for escape in hand, as this place he thought was his worst nightmare. Sunday night the Hercules was quiet and cold all year round. Paddy the landlord was watching tele on the big screen. Chain-smoking; with his pale tall skinny frame dressed in white vest and his grey hair he even looked like a cigarette as he coughed with every breath. The picture was blurred; lions tour apart a zebra. The pub door flew open; Nancy swaggered up to the bar as she blew a kiss to Norman, seated in a corner. “No frigging wander, no bugger comes in here on a Sunday night, Paddy,” she yelled. “Put some music on or I’ll start singing.” Paddy laughed as he started to pour her usual drink. “Two quid,” he snarled, “Jukebox is over there.” Nancy sat down close to Norman, not in the seat he would have expected her to have chosen. “Cheers my darling,” she almost whispered. “Can you believe this pub, it is a miracle Paddy can afford to keep it open, trade is so bad. He would never get a job anywhere; look at the state of him.” Norman nodded. “So why are we here,” he asked. “Privacy, too many wagging tongues at the Prince tonight,” she explained, “And that Charles is a right dirty bastard, calls Churchill a drip of the old www.bibliotastic.com

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cock. He stinks; his breath could start an epidemic. Claims not to brush his teeth, reckons that what you pay the Dentist for; it was no surprise his poor wife left him. She ran off with the Juke Box engineer and all they had in common was a crush on Cliff Richard. ” Nancy continued to chat away; Norman just listened and nodded. A few more customers did drift in, not the brewery crowd. Couples sat in what seemed like their regular Sunday night positions. Nancy asked Norman if he could sense the forbidden love atmosphere in the pub. She nodded him in the direction of some of the couples, commenting on their circumstances. “Affairs of the heart,” she sighed. “And sex.” Norman started to consider his position; now in the company of the merry widow he could feel others’ eyes upon him and became self conscious these people knew of, ‘Nancy’s fancies,’ as Katie had called them. “The bad news is,” announced Nancy, “this poor excuse for a boozer closes tonight at ten, Paddy’s poor wife, cancer you see,” she whispered as she drew on a freshly lit cigarette. “The good news is you are invited to my humble home for a night cap.” She had undressed Norman with her eyes and got quite excited when catching sight of his size twelve boots. Norman noting her gaze exclaimed, “Doc. Martins, very comfortable, I used to be a skinhead you know when I was at College.” Nancy smiled as she enquired, “Why did you stop?” “I fancied this black girl, but she didn’t want to know me.” Placing her hands over his, she asked, “Did your change of image do the trick.” “No” came the saddened reply, “turned out she was a Lesbian anyway.” At this they both laughed, for different reasons. “I meant stop College, come on,” gestured Nancy, “one for the gutter.” Norman took the initiative, soon returning from the deserted bar with two large Southern Comforts. “I hope you are not trying to get me pissed young Norman,” slurred Nancy. “Just being friendly,” he replied. They walked awkwardly at first on leaving the pub. Nancy deciding to take hold of Norman’s arm in an innocent way, “Just for support,” she explained leading the way into the small hallway of her house. There with the door closed she wrapped herself around her young escort, “Lesbian indeed,” she whispered into his ear, “How dare she.”

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Chapter Two - The Natives are friendly

They did not make it past the first few stairs which served as a make shift bed. They grunted and grunted and continued grunting till their satisfied groans brought a barking response from a neighbour’s dog out in the street. They were both still fully clothed as they got to their feet. Nancy gently steered Norman on his way out of the front door, with a tender kiss in his ear she whispered, “ See you at work in the morning Norman, take care of this little secret and we can have more.” Norman chuckled on his short walk home, this sex business is great in London he thought, you get to keep your clothes on and leave straight after. He remembered all the fuss he had now left behind in the Midlands and shook his head, “And I didn’t even have to tell her I love her,” he mused. “Perhaps my real parents were Londoners!” Katie had her eyes fixed on Nancy’s bedroom that evening from 10 o’clock, the time she new the Hercules closed. Sitting at her dressing table she was relieved to hear Norman use his key for the first time just gone 10.30. Good lad, she thought, Katie also had undressed Norman with her eyes and even fantasised various scenarios, as they were not really related they tended to follow the young lodger theme, rather than the other option. She did not greet Norman; he had a few friendly words with Ernest before going up to his room. He lit up a cigarette, sat on the end of his bed and thought about Nancy; it was to remain a secret but what next and how would she react to him at the brewery and then there’s Ernest and Katie His mind was working overtime; producing thoughts it seemed to stop him from sleeping. It was sex that got him here and it might be sex that would get him to somewhere else, the sea! Yes it was all fait; sex was sending him to sea. But surely sex is what people go to work at sea for; it is a vicious circle life he concluded. Then he fell asleep, confused but happy and sexually satisfied. Katie took Norman in coffee first thing Monday morning, she had noted his preference. He was to go into the brewery with her. Ernest had a 6am. Start. Katie and Norman would go in for 8.45. They moved around the kitchen well together, sharing the chores and enjoying each other’s company. After a light almost healthy breakfast they set off to work. On entering the brewery Katie handed over her Nephew to the foreman Lenny. A huge red faced man in his mid-forties with thinning ginger hair, better known as Lottery Lenny on account of the fact he spent small fortunes trying to win a big one. As a single man he could afford to gamble, but was a much-ridiculed figure for various reasons including his rejected advances

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to Nancy. Norman fitted in well with the summer group of students; with his unkempt mop of jet-black hair he looked the part. “Listen up,” Lenny addressed the group, “my name is Mr. Pratt, get your laughter over now. Welcome to McNaughton’s Brewery formerly Whitney’s Fine Ales. We still brew here, however our main function is as a main distribution centre for your imported foreign lagers. Real ale! Well we brew Old Demented, Cats’ Piss and Mermaids Juice. Work! Right, let me explain, we brewery workers are as lazy as they come and proud of it. We barely find the time to work each day with the many distractions life throws our way, let alone maintain any standard of hygiene. So in the school holidays,” he said in a mocking tone, “we get in local students like your good selves. We pay you as little as the law allows and sit back and drink beer, while you clean the place up, in preparation for our yearly visit from the Environmental Health Inspector, by which time of course you lot have gone back to school. Any silly questions? No, good, right follow me.” Lenny soon had them hard at work. Norman’s worst fears now confirmed, he eyed up the brewery walls as if a prisoner, now just turned nineteen-years of age he felt he might be under-achieving. The well educated, college drop out had yet to find his career niche, not that he had ever looked. He never blamed his orphan status for anything and had no hang-ups, he was just a drifter. Katie tracked him down as he cleaned away, to encourage him she mentioned that Nancy sent her best wishes. Norman did feel a warm glow inside from their attention as he worked along side the other temporary workers, striking up friendships throughout the day. When given the goahead he made his own way home. Katie was there before him. She had put a stew on to cook. “It will be ready from 7,” she shouted from upstairs, “Just help yourself, with some bread and butter. Ernest is playing darts at the Prince of Wales; he will be back by 10 and will finish it off.” Norman liked this feeling of being a part of Ernest and Katie’s world and felt at home, even if it was to be just a short stay. Katie soon had changed and gone to bingo with the ladies from the office, including, ‘Nancy,’ she had dropped into her words of farewell. The telephone rang; Norman hesitated before he nervously picked up the handset. “Is Katie there,” said a female voice. Norman explained nervously that she had gone to the bingo. “I know,” said Nancy, “how are you after your first day in Alcatraz? Aches and pains I should imagine, take a nice hot bath darling and have an early night. I will need you at your best later in the week, take care.”

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Norman took this advice, followed by a generous helping of Katie’s stew washed down with the never-ending stock of McNaughton’s Ale. Better buy a crate of these he thought, on my way home tomorrow I guess; I must sort out paying some keep money too. He decided to bring the matter up with Ernest, man to man he thought. Ernest just referred him to Katie. Katie just said she would think about it. The following day as Norman strolled back from the brewery he collected the beers and cigarettes, flowers and chocolates, only to arrive home to an empty house. A note only greeted him, it read, Ernest playing cribbage tonight at the Hercules, back by 10.30. I am out with the girls; stew on, ready by 7.30. What a social life these two have thought Norman. He took himself off to the bathroom, after a long soak he dared back downstairs wearing his dressing gown. The phone rang, he grabbed the handset straightaway, “Norman,” said Nancy. Norman stayed silent. “Very funny,” she snapped, “You, my place, now,” before she hung-up. Norman laughed. Once he had dressed for the job he strode off on the short walk to meet the merry widow. Her door was just open, he slowly pushed it back, inside was total darkness. Light showed from under a door at the top of the stairs. Once on the first floor he gently turned the door handle; the light went out, a click had come from the far end of the room. He saw just the outline of a woman in white, sitting on a bed, as she drew on her cigarette the glow illuminated her smile. Nancy completed her seduction with a spread of her legs, drawing them up to her chest as she released the tie on the top of her nightgown. Norman knew what to do to reward her for this generous offer. Once again he remained fully dressed as they wrestled on her king-size bed; he pushed away her curvaceous body as she wrapped herself around his waist forcing a ferocious pace of intercourse. It was soon over, she asked him to show himself out, blew him one last kiss, waved and gestured that this be another little secret. He closed the front door gently. The street was not brightly lit; the house was situated away from the streetlights. Nancy has got it really sussed thought Norman as he sloped off back home. The stew was a touch soup like now, but extra tasty, he was in need of this meal and was fast asleep in his room by the time Ernest and Katie had returned. They were concerned if he was feeling at home or, ‘Perhaps he was lonely,’ worried Katie. “Look Ernest she said in an emotional tone, he has been to the shop, lovely flowers and chocolates, McNaughton’s Light Ales and fags. We did do the right thing taking him in, lovely boy.” As the rest of the week came and went, Norman fell into the routine. Ernest and Katie went out every night separately. Friday and Saturday were their nights out together. Sunday they both stayed in. Norman fell in with www.bibliotastic.com

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this, as the son Ernest and Katie never managed. Nancy was to provide his sex life. Katie even made the odd comment with regards to finding Norman a young lady. “You just wait till the Xmas-Eve disco at the Prince of Wales,” had shouted Ernest in an excited state one night “loads of crumpet.” Norman had seen Nancy every day at the brewery; she had given him smiles that sent him week at the knees. Even if it was just sexual she had got him, right where she wanted him, on tap. Saturday night at the Prince of Wales marked an anniversary, one week since Norman, Katie and Ernest had their lives joined through fait. Sunday night was a more private affair. At the Hercules pub just Norman and Nancy raised their glasses. They were good together, laughed a lot and enjoyed their little secrets. “Looks like this will be our last Sunday here for our sexual aperitif,” blurted out Nancy. “In English please,” pleaded Norman. “The poster, over there, have you not read it,” she said. Norman studied the very large poster. “Comedy F.U. every night starts next Sunday here. Pay As You Enter only, Free Exit. Wanted dead or alive COMEDIANS & COMEDIENNES apply to the MISMANAGEMENT. We are not an equal opportunities employer (so if you’re not funny you can fuck off). Ernest is not going to be too happy about this,” he concluded. “Still leaves him the Prince to drink in,” answered Nancy. “Look, Paddy has got real problems here, his wife being so ill, trade not what is was. One of the comedy agents offered him a deal; it is still his pub on paper. They sort everything out with the comedy in return for the door money.” At that point Paddy joined the two clutching a drink each for them and his own. “Need a word with you big fella, little birdie tells me you’re only a temp at the brewery. Got a proposition for you. Need a body here, told the jokers I’d supply the doorman. Needs to be a face people round here know. You’re O.K. working at the brewery and being family with Ernest and Katie. Well respected they are round here and trusted. You could be my ears and eyes.” “Every night though,” replied Norman, “it says on that poster.” “Bollocks,” said Paddy, “that’s just for show, will only be weekends at first anyway. See how it works out. You might be desperate for the hours when they kick you out the brewery end of the summer. What you say? ”

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Nancy looked over at Norman nodding her head; he guessed she was the little birdie. “So I not only get to tell Ernest one of his locals is as good as closing, to the likes of him,” answered Norman, “but I even get to kick him while he is down, with the good news, by the way Uncle Ernest guess what, I got the job as doorman, at the Hercules.” “No no!” screamed Paddy. “The Two Buttocks, it is going to be called the Two Buttocks.” “What, I have to even tell him that an all?” asked Norman now in a state of amazement. “It was part of the deal with the jokers,” pleaded Paddy, “but it could have been worse, at first they wanted to call it The Haemorrhoids.” “Oh that’s alright then said Norman,” now in sarcastic tone. “Great, that is a right fucking load off my mind,” concluded Paddy. “A toast, the Two Buttocks. Nancy will sort out your wages; she is going to run the books for me.” Paddy shook both his new employees’ hands, but could not resist a peck on Nancy’s cheek. He then returned behind the bar, rang the bell and shouted, “Last orders at the bar please.” With only Norman and Nancy still in the pub, it was his way of dropping a hint that it was their round. Norman got the drinks in, Paddy said he could only accept a large scotch, they all laughed. The eager lovers knocked back their large Southern Comforts. Again they shook hands with Paddy before leaving. Nancy had nominated where she wanted sex this night. She led Norman into her open plan lounge area; she lit a candle then pulled him down on top of herself and a large beanbag. Just as a week earlier almost to the minute, Norman zipped up his trousers as they kissed goodnight just inside the darkened hallway. They were again both satisfied. On reaching home Norman opted for an early night, just shouting out, “Good night all,” as he made his way to the sanctuary of his room. As he lay in his bed, he practised how he would break his career news to Ernest and Katie, the sheer scale of the task put him to sleep. Monday morning he was late getting up, he now starts work later than Ernest but earlier than Katie, so only just caught sight of her as he rushed down a coffee, “Hot enough to kill lesser men” he screamed. Noticing Katie has started to wear less now when it’s just the two of them in the house causes Norman some concern. What she does wear reminds him of a documentary he once saw on women that sit behind windows in Amsterdam, offering sex. He thinks to himself, oh no, do I not have enough problems without this? He bolts out through the door, gazes at his watch, only to see

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he is not now going to be late. “That pigging old clock in the bedroom, has given me a throat like Joe Cocker”, he mumbled to himself. He slowed his pace, he could now take time to think, and wander if he could be heading for another family upset, he felt uneasy. ‘Maybe I should have given Auntie Katie a good shagging this morning,’ he thought, ‘I did have the time after all, it would keep her sweet. Fucking women, he considered, why not.’ He concluded, ‘if she’s asking for it tomorrow she gets it.’ He chuckled away, feeling ashamed of his thoughts, as he waved to Nancy whilst passing by her office window. That night with Ernest at the pub and Katie just off to the bingo, Nancy phoned. Norman was pleased to hear her strong sexy voice. “I am worried about what Ernest will feel, about the Hercules and me and you even,” he wined. “Dearest Norman you have been hired as a doorman, you just leave the management of this situation to Nancy, got it,” she assured him. “Look, apart from our little secret, everything is sweet. Ernest and Katie will be fine. They hardly use the Hercules these days anyway and they will not go near the place if Paddy is not around, so relax.” “You got it,” said Norman in an American accent. “You have not said anything yet, have you?” asked Nancy. “Wish I knew how,” replied Norman. “Fine then,” she said, “I will mention to Katie tomorrow about Paddy, handing over the Pub to the jokers, you know his wife, the cancer and all that. How poor old Paddy needs some people he can trust to keep an eye on the place. I will tell her I am going to keep the books for him and ask her if she and Ernest would ask you to help poor old Paddy, by doing the door job.” “You sort it, I will do it,” concluded Norman. “Call me tomorrow.” Norman tucked into some of Katie’s stew, took over the parlour table, poured a McNaughton’s Ale and gazed at the tele. He was happy at home now for the first time in his life. After the phone call Nancy made her way to the Hercules, she knocked on the lounge bar entrance. Paddy let her in then bolted the door. He had given opening a miss on Mondays since trade fell away. A large oval table was covered in paperwork. The two sat down, it was an emotional meeting as there was history between them. “ I am a bit concerned, your relationship with the big fella, could give us problems with this lot, ” said Paddy, pointing at the piles of scruffy paper work, covered in old scotch stains and fresh cigarette ash. www.bibliotastic.com

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“I don’t have relationships,” pointed out Nancy. “You of all people should know that. So down to the business in hand.” They agreed she would be in charge of the pub side. Norman would answer to her, the bar staff would answer to him when she was not around. The place would only open evenings from 7 and only if the jokers had done all the publicity. Paddy had made the flat upstairs self-contained and even soundproof when his wife first got ill. So Nancy was to let it out. “No fucking students or unemployeds,” shouted Paddy. “And if you get nurses from round the corner, no fucking parties up there every night.” “Of course not,” mocked Nancy, “we couldn’t have people laughing and drinking over a comedy pub could we.” “Doctors, young doctors would be best they earn more money than nurses,” replied Paddy now on a roll. “They reckon to work so fucking hard; they shouldn’t have the energy to enjoy themselves.” Nancy said she would put a notice up at the local hospital. Paddy and his wife would not be far away; she had never given up her small council flat. They had never married, “Too busy at first in the pub, then too quiet to afford it, then she became too ill, and that’s over twenty years,” reflected Paddy. “Second time round it was for both of us, come to think of it, not sure if she ever got a divorce. Good job I didn’t marry her perhaps.” Nancy dropped her head into her hands, she worried, managing this dinosaur’s business is going to be hard work she thought, still I owe him this and business is business. Paddy concluded with his winding up plans, he would break the news to Ernest and the lads on cribbage night Tuesday. He had agreed with Charles at the Prince of Wales they could play out the season there. This Friday would be the farewell party night at the Hercules. Paddy would hand over the Pub on Saturday. He and Maureen had not lived there since she became confined to her bed and they had moved back into her small flat. Nancy would interview bar staff over the weekend, she would meet 10a.m. Sunday with the jokers, to lay down all the ground rules for their working together. That evening would be the first Comedy night at the Two Buttocks. With business concluded Paddy was eager to get back to Maureen. It was still early enough for Nancy to join the Ladies at the local Bingo. She did mention to Katie that a meeting with Paddy had delayed her and she would tell all at work the next day. Tuesday, first thing, Norman knew he was not late, having bought himself a massive wall clock that dominated his room and made him very conscious of time. Being unable to bin the old dressing table clock, he would use it as a www.bibliotastic.com

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bookend, not that he had any books. At work this day he got a few waves from Nancy as he walked passed her office. He also got waves from Katie, seeing the two of them in the office together he felt embarrassed. One down, one to go he thought to himself. That evening after Katie had gone off to the bingo, Norman phoned Nancy. “Did you get an adults permission to use the phone, “she enquired, laughing. “I don’t know any,” snapped Norman. “See you soon, I expect,” concluded Nancy as she hung-up. Norman ambled round for his Tuesday night Sex, but first he wanted an up-date on the Hercules saga. Nancy obliged but not in that order. “My pleasure before business,” she demanded. She went on to explain that Ernest and Katie would now ask him to help out Paddy anyway, so all would work out just fine. They agreed to meet up at Paddy’s Friday night farewell party. ‘GOOD BYE I’LL MISS YOU’ read the homemade banner crooked above the bar. “Shouldn’t be wasting money on an expensive sign like that,” shouted Nancy over at Paddy as he drank himself into a coma. “Could be your first job here Norman, to carry him out to a taxi later,” she added. Nancy was right, both Ernest and Katie had asked Norman to look after the door for Paddy and he did have to carry him out to his taxi. Norman was on overtime Saturday morning helping Paddy move out the last of his possessions. Nancy was there sorting out keys for everything, she found stocktaking with Paddy hard work. He wore sunglasses because of his hangover and kept falling over things. At last by early evening all was sorted at the pub. Nancy now the key holder locked the main door. She and Norman were both tired; they agreed on fish and chips to be purchased and then eaten at her house. As they sat down, Nancy served chilled white wine, lots of it. They enjoyed their first meal together. Nancy demanded some, “Serious sex” on the other beanbag; then sent Norman off home. They would meet later that evening at the Prince of Wales. Norman was enjoying his new life-style and it was now acceptable for him to spend time with Nancy as they worked together. Katie commented that perhaps he would meet a nice young lady at the comedy nights and Ernest blamed, “The bloody Council,” for the closure of the Hercules.

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That evening was busier at the Pub than was normal. With the Hercules no longer a locals’ pub, its few customers had moved on to the Prince of Wales. Charles the landlord loved it, wishing Nancy and Norman good luck, as they didn’t threaten his newfound trade. At the end of the evening, they went their separate ways. She reminding him first that he was expected the following mid-day at the Two Buttocks. Sunday came, Norman knocked on the massive front door of the Hercules. It was mid-day and painters were desperate to cover up old signs. A new swinging sign had been hung up. Norman winced at the sight, yes it was TWO BUTTOCKS, and he was still shaking his head as Nancy opened the door. “Keys,” she snapped, “yours, you’re on time, in future be early.” She pulled him in through the door and kissed him, like he had never been kissed before. “Is this exciting Norman, or what!” she exclaimed. Come and meet the jokers. She led him through to the lounge bar, at the large table sat the Spin Doctor and Nigel. Nancy introduced the three. Both the jokers came from the North of England; Doc as he liked to be called warmed to Norman with his Midlands’ accent. Nancy had taken care of all the paperwork long before Norman had arrived; he noticed Nigel the slightly taller of the two with multi coloured hair was a very nervous guy. He had sat with his thin legs almost double crossed and adjusted his heavy black framed glasses none stop at the table; this put Norman on edge with him. “Right then, Doc and Nigel have lots to do, in oh! such little time and I have bar persons to sign up and train,” announced Nancy. “So! Norman the doorman, as there will be loads of strangers in and out, please give it code red on the security front.”

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Chapter Three - The opening of the Two Buttocks

Like ants building a nest, the jokers set about turning the old Hercules pub into a comedy venue. The building was just perfect for the transformation; Norman was amazed when two guys with ponytails walked in with chainsaws and turned two bars into one. A strange looking female with huge tits was putting up curtains everywhere with a staple gun. Long haired expublic schoolboys hung spotlights from the ceiling and a bloke covered in tattoos drove everyone round the fucking twist, “One two, one two,” his testing call. “ Hawkwind used these speakers once.” “Only once,” shouted back Doc. Everything did in fact go like clockwork; at 7 there was a queue at the door. “Let them queue,” Nigel told Norman, looks great, there will be press here tonight, early cause it’s free drinks for them, don’t worry, comes out the door money, our treat.” The night was sheer chaos; Doc and Nigel had pulling power. The local hospital had provided a high local turnout also. Well over a 100 paid entry on the night, the guest list just added to record takings at the bar. Admissions had to be stopped at 10. Doc compared the evening he introduced a succession of unknown Stand-ups; Nigel as stage manager worked himself into neurotic state before leaving early. Doc referred to him as ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth.’ There was only one Stand-up known to this first night audience; a kiwi pretending to be an Aussie named Bungalow Bill stormed onto the stage at 10.15. “You Whinging fucking poms,” he shouted at the crowd. Then opening a newspaper he proceeded to read out headlines, adding his thoughts on the issues. “Pensioners say Council Tax too high, oh, what a fucking shame. If they don’t want to pay it, they should fuck off and live somewhere else. Try on the banks of the Ganges, no Council Tax there, you just poor your piss and shit in the river along with your garbage. Like you’re wanted here anyway. Stop fucking whinging coffin dodgers Here’s another, firemen consider further strike action, what bollocks, I’ve seen that documentary, London’s Burning, get a real job guys. Heat wave continues, do me a favour.

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We had to open this place tonight, as it’s the only night this year that that fucking Office is not on the tele. Strange statistic, 100% of people that watch the Office, don’t have a video-recorder, so they all had to go out and buy the D.V.D. I auditioned for the girl in the wheelchair part you know, equal opportunities and all that, I think Ricky Gervais was worried I would be too strong a character, I respect his honesty. You do have some weird tele here though, the Royal Family, I channel hop a lot, first I thought it was a furniture ad; it’s just some whinging fucking poms; sit down comedy. I don’t get it. What’s the difference between a carpet and a wank? You can beat a carpet, but you can’t beat a good wank.” After many more insults, Bungalow Bill bowed out, the crowd were up for a great night and so they had one. Nancy, Norman and Doc had worked well together; the next comedy night would be Thursday. After Doc had left, Nancy showed Norman another location for sex. They then staggered off together, Norman just seeing Nancy safely to her front door, before tiptoeing back into the world of Ernest and Katie, now both fast asleep Early next morning, as Norman burnt some bread for breakfast, Katie came down early. She was keen to know how the first comedy night had gone down at the old Hercules. Norman was very excited even telling her a few of the less blue funnies. She asked him if he would be interested in staying on at the brewery after the summer. “Just a general tidier-up,” she explained, “money’s not bad though and you would finish in plenty of time for your door job.” Unable to reason at that time of the day, Norman replied, “Why not, thanks Auntie.” Katie smiled as she now hurried off to the bathroom. Nancy needed now to speak to Norman at the brewery daytimes, as there were matters to update him on. There was no gossip about the pair, he was considered to be her go-for. She asked him to let the jokers into the pub that night for a couple of hours. They had some more work to do and wanted to do a few auditions. Nancy would drop by after bingo. It was 11pm. when she let herself into the pub, only Norman was still there. He sat watching news on the big screen. Nancy poured them both a large Southern Comfort. “Sunday already,” said Norman. “No it’s fucking Monday,” replied Nancy, “pun intended.” She sat down with him. Cigarettes were lit. Norman grabbed the remote control, the big screen went blank. “Good shot,” said Nancy. “Here you go, a present.” She handed over a gift-wrapped box, Norman not really a presents man, was embarrassed. Nancy had to help him unwrap it. “A mobile phone” he asked, “for me?” www.bibliotastic.com

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“It goes with the job,” she answered, “but they offered to gift wrap in the shop, now will you shag me.” As they locked up the pub, Norman pointed out to Nancy, that they had yet to have sex in the same place twice. “There isn’t time now Norman,” she replied in her mocking tone still fixing her clothes. They walked to her front door. She tidied up his thick hair with her hand and pushed him away in the direction of Ernest and Katie’s. Tuesday and Wednesday with the exception of the gift of a mobile phone, were more of the same for Norman and Nancy. Thursday evening kicked off the first of four nights’ consecutive comedy at the Two Buttocks. It was during this stint that Norman started to get noticed. Many of the customers were coming back, there were many bar-staff, and Doc and Nigel had friends that helped out. Even the lads from the brewery would stop for a chat with him as they passed by. Known now officially as Norman the Doorman, one or two ladies would hang around outside the door with him, some evenings. Nancy would tease Norman over his, ‘Normie’s,’ as she called them. The first full weekend of comedy was a huge success. Reviewers had been excited about the new comedy venue and their free drinks. Doc had researched the area well before approaching Paddy at the old Hercules. The area was on the up; professionals were moving into now trendy ex-council tower blocks. They of course took the brunt of much of the humour at the Two Buttocks. “No pissing in the lifts, you lot, on your way home,” Doc would shout most nights as he wished all good night and begged them not to come back again. Nancy had let the flat to her head barman Patrick and his Girl-friend B.A. despite her being an Art Student and the most awful Irish Comedienne on the circuit. The summer became routine for Norman and all those around him. The Thursday to Sunday comedy nights were established, with the odd extra one thrown in, August Bank Holiday Monday was a sell-out. Life at the brewery changed for him as the students went back to college. He got kept on, mainly due to Lottery Lenny now having the hots for Katie. Nights stood on the pub door soon became colder; Norman borrowed a night security coat from the brewery. He had from the onset listened to much of the comedy, it was very loud and easy to hear from outside. But as the winter weather forced him to stand just inside the door (with Nancy’s permission of course) he started to take note of the comedians’ mannerisms and developed his own style of humour. Norman had now entered a world where everything was fair game for would-be comedians and of course there was, the comedienne. “Always one,” moaned Nancy, “they are just not funny, especially B.A. That Jo

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Brand she’s not bad, they should get ‘er down here.” It seemed like every comedy observation seemed to be followed by, ‘How sad is that,’ Norman noticed and he soon went from living and breathing stand up to speaking its very language. It helped remind him there was a much bigger World than his, somewhere. At the brewery he made them laugh, repeating material from the acts. At home he entertained Ernest and Katie. With Nancy he switched off, however she noticed he was more like Doc, Nigel and the acts, than he was her. He could no-longer look at things without seeing a funny side to them. One night Norman answered so many questions whilst watching University challenge, that Nancy tried seduction to put him off. She knew how clever he was and it added to his mystique and attraction. Their sexual encounters continued. He supported Birmingham City F.C. and asked Nancy if he could fuck her at half time when they were watching a televised match, she consented. Nancy asked Norman if he would use a microphone to clear people out a bit quicker at closing time, he agreed. Doc and Nigel were against it, but when Norman started to throw in a few funnies this became a feature of the evenings, the crowd enjoyed it so it stuck. In the run up to Xmas Nigel became ill, the Two Buttocks had taken its toll on his health, so he reckoned, despite his theory of out of date Yoghurts being good for him. There were even jokes made about Nigel after he had gone back North to his parents for a rest and to work on his idea, ‘A Fumble in the Jungle,’ un-solicited for Channel 4. He was referred to as, ‘Neurotic Nigel’ by Doc who now depended on Norman to help him out, Just as Norman depended on Patrick. With the arrival of winter Norman would sit by the cashier’s booth, just inside the main venue door. He now had a mike clipped to his shirt, a push button made him live. Being most nights the tallest person at the Two Buttocks and dressed in black suit and bow tie, he became master of ceremonies by default. At first introducing the compares, then introducing the acts if required. Doc found it easier to work with less people; he stopped booking compares and ran the shows with Norman. They worked well together. Doc was a very small guy, in his mid-thirties with fair thinning hair; he loved to dress up for the stage, had loads of energy and was an undiscovered comedy talent. He had lacked faith in himself and patience so moved into management. Now he had the power to control the fate of others, just as others had once controlled him. He was a bitter man but knew his comedy. As agent to many acts and comedy venues he was now discovered. December brought new customers into the venue, as regulars attended parties elsewhere. It was hard to get acts some nights and it was like the Doc and Norman show, with the audience as their support. But it still worked, the www.bibliotastic.com

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place was packed out with the seasons revellers anyway, ‘And good talent would have been wasted on such morons,’ Doc insisted as he got richer and Norman got funnier, Paddy now thought every day was his Birthday as Nancy updated him on the bar takings, Maureen was still dieing, Ernest had almost forgot his Nephew lived in the house; Katie was spending a small fortune trying to attract Norman with sexy underwear, whilst Nancy seemed in control of it all and it wasn’t even Xmas yet. As the 25th of December got nearer Norman and Doc had to think on their feet more and more. But the Xmas week brought out their best efforts. They put on comedy Karaoke it went down a storm. Then one night the most feared thing was happening live, with only a mystery top of the bill expected Norman’s phone rang. Bungalow Bill booked only because he owed Doc a favour was having a massive problem at home. He lived in digs in a posh flat in Golders Green, where he claimed, ‘Some guys pretended to be Jewish, just so they could wear a skull cap to hide their bald patch whilst chatting up the local Sheilas.’ Bill’s landlady was having a mid-life crisis. “She’s 50, I keep telling her she should have had this at least ten years ago,” said Bill, “she will not live till 100 anyway, she could drink and smoke for Israel.” “If you can’t make it Bill,” insisted Norman, “your fucking nuisance of a landlady won’t be the only one having a mid-life crisis tonight.” “I offered the Sheila a good shagging,” shouted Bill into Norman’s ear, “seem to make her worse though. I will get to you for that last spot, must go.” Norman quickly relayed the troublesome news to Doc. He also proposed he devise a sketch for the two of them to do there and then. Doc nodded and with that, Norman picked him up like a puppet and strode onto the stage. Sitting down with Doc on his lap and his arm threaded up through Doc’s jacket, he looked into the eyes of his nervous dummy, “What’s up Doc,” he asked. The crowd were gob smacked as Norman bounced Doc on his knee. Lottery Lenny from the brewery helping out on security that night nearly fell off his stool. Doc’s friends working stage effects stood speechless in anticipation of the pairs’ next move. Bar staff stopped serving and Nancy on a rare visit to the venue of an evening thought she was going to orgasm. Doc reached out to the table closest to the stage, he picked up a full pint of lager. He then passed it to Norman who slowly started to down it in one. Then Doc spoke, “ Hello Boys and Girls are you looking forward to Xmas,” the crowd went for it and thanks to some great hecklers the routine with Doc the puppet and Norman the straight faced ventriloquist trying to keep some order went down well. When a lady insisted on trying to pull Doc’s trousers off Norman brought the act to an end, by admitting Doc was not really a puppet and he never really wanted to be a ventriloquist. No he www.bibliotastic.com

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wanted to be a lumberjack, and he led the crowd into singing the lumberjack song. He retreated still carrying Doc like a puppet. “Thank god for Monty Python,” screamed Doc over the loud applause, “now will you fucking put me down.” Nancy went over and hugged the pair she had tears rolling down her face. They had bought the time they needed. Norman had put Ernest’s Chas and Dave video on the big screen; they would only get away with this at Xmas. Norman’s phone rang; he rushed outside the pub to take the call. “I’m just round the corner,” shouted Bill as his car screeched into sight. “I ended up giving her a good shagging Norman,” he yelled across the street, “it was the only way, and you owe me big time for that, she’s awesome man, hairs on her chest. I can never go home again.” He laughed and hugged Norman. Doc joined them outside. Bill explained he had an idea for his entrance tonight, Norman agreed. He removed the mike from Doc’s shirt and pinned it on to Bill. The entrance began. They could be heard, but not seen inside the pub. Norman, “Sorry sir, you can’t come in, we’re full up.” Bill, “Come on just a jar or two matey.” Norman, “No come back, where do you think your going?” Bill, “I just want to check out the sheilas.” Bill ran into the pub and made his way to the stage he let rip his catch phase, “Hello you whinging fucking poms.” The place erupted. Bungalow Bill now a minor television face held the audience through till closing time. He closed his act with a song, ‘Fuck off across the Mersey.’ Whilst receiving a standing ovation he ran out, still screaming abuse. He drove off, on the way home phoning Norman, “I got to get home and shag the Sheila again,” he chuckled, “well it is Xmas, can’t have her feeling crook; gooday.” The next morning, “What’s a good thing for a hangover Katie,” begged Norman. “To drink too-much the night before,” she answered, dressed in a burgundy silk look dressing gown. Norman was slumped over the dining table; the excitement of the previous evening had culminated with a bottle of Southern comfort and some quite violent sex with Nancy in the back yard of the pub. She called it the masonry position, “Missionaries should have taught this on their travels,” she had screamed. Now to get into the brewery for just a half day as it was Xmas Eve. Katie brought a glass of water and told him the fresh air on the way to work would www.bibliotastic.com

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also help. At the brewery to his relief, there were other casualties of the Demon Drink. Nancy had booked the day off as she did every year; she would spend hours sitting beside the grave of her late husband. Knowing of this spooked Norman. The horn sounded at the brewery, cheers could be heard from the men. It was off to the Prince of Wales for their Xmas drink. In years gone by the Hercules was the chosen pub for this yearly binge. Norman tagged along, he didn’t want to let Ernest down and being family it meant a lot. Norman slipped off after a couple of beers. He now felt better, so he grabbed a pie and chips on his way home. He set himself up at the dining table, poured a beer and switched on the tele. He presumed he was alone in the house, finished lunch, cleared away and then relaxed for a snooze in the Ernest chair right in front of the tele. After realising his needed to use a toilet he climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom. “Oh Norman,” Katie said, in a welcoming tone her nakedness just slightly blurred by the steam rising off her heavily scented bath water. “So sorry,” replied Norman, “really sorry.” Katie having dreamt of this moment, seized it, standing up in the bath, “Fuck me Norman, please, please,” she begged. Norman had to think fast on his feet here, ‘If he refused, the embarrassment it would cause, would mess the both of them up. After all she had done for him he owed her everything really. It was just a fuck.’ “Where?” said Norman in true James Bond style.

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Chapter Four - Xmas is for giving

“Your room,” begged Katie. Norman led the way; Katie slipped into a black silk look dressing gown and followed him. He stood back in his room allowing her to enter; she drew the curtains before getting into the bed. The room was now dark enough to hide their blushes as they engaged in sexual foreplay. Norman sat on the bedside and fondled her breasts, he then stood up and undressed, not something he had time for when fucking Nancy. Being naked in bed was a first for Norman and a distant memory for Katie; this novelty factor heightened the event for them both, causing the pair to climax in record time. Norman lit a cigarette straight after. Katie told him to get some rest before his night’s work. She left the room with a silent grace; Norman felt no-less respect for her. He fell asleep and had to be woken by Nancy, on his mobile phone she gave him an earful. It was 6pm.Xmas eve and where the hell was he anyway. Norman made his peace and agreed to be there within 30 minutes. He showered, put on his doorman’ suit and strolled out of the house, “Have a great Xmas eve you two.” shouted Norman. Ernest was demolishing pie and chips. Katie was still in her room, she heard Norman’s upbeat farewell and sighed with relief as she now prepared to wash away her memory of that afternoon. Norman knew this was no time to reflect on his afternoon as he quickened his steps to the Two Buttocks. Once inside he got stuck in to the chaotic activities needed to get the venue open on time. He was not his usual self when Nancy handed over to him. She was going off for a few hours and would return about 11ish. Norman noticed behind the bar was untidy; he hated it when staff left junk around. He went through it, an assortment of worthless lost property and exstaff belongings. A scarf of a former feminist barmaid was hurtled into the bin. He recalled how she had stormed out while a comedian had made one too many sexist remark; a reference that she preferred Men to liquor. At the very bottom of the junk was a book, Norman picked it up carefully; it was an easy introduction to Zen. He looked inside the cover, where by hand was written, ‘To Nigel, the world is a funny place this may help you keep laughing. Good luck the Doc.’ Norman waved the book at Doc, “Nigel’s left this book you got him,” he shouted over the music. “Pity”, replied Doc. “he should have read it, could have helped him straighten out his fucked up life.” “I will read it over Xmas, may I?” asked Norman. “That’s what books are for,” stated Doc.

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Norman went through to the office. He placed the book in his draw for safekeeping. Perhaps it can help me straighten out my fucked up life, he thought to himself. The venue would not open this night until eight. They had a late extension for Xmas eve. Norman slowly started putting change into the bar tills, he was feeling fragile as a panic attack got hold of him. His thoughts slogged it out like two boxers, ‘I have just had sex with my Auntie, oh God, my Mum’s sister, that’s even worse. No my step Mums sister, that’s better. But it’s still my Uncles wife, only my step Uncle though, but I like him. Then there’s Nancy, what if Katie should tell her about us, what us? Katie and me or Nancy and me? What if Katie confesses to Ernest? What if Nancy tells Katie about us? Oh no this is the best one, Nancy tells Ernest, Ernest tells Katie. Or perhaps Nancy just tells Ernest, Ernest keeps quiet, and then Katie confesses to Ernest also.’ He lit a cigarette and drew hard, this slowed his thoughts down. ‘I could deny fucking either of them. Bollocks, what about me, why is it always about other people? Tomorrow how about that, Xmas dinner with Ernest and Katie, how will she act?’ He knew Nancy was to spend the day with her family. “Is this comedy?” he asked himself. Could I use this tonight, should I? This is life; if life isn’t funny then we would have to close down the venue.” Norman now just numbed by his situation, made a strong coffee, lit another cigarette and managed to clear his mind. Soon he was able to put his problems away for the evening as work took over his life. Xmas eve. entertainment was well sorted out. Lots of Xmas nonsense, comedy twists to everything, prize draws, competitions, a comedy magician and two stand-ups. Norman would open the show with a short intro-spot; the Doc would compare. Nancy was returning to cash up most of the money, but would not hang around long. Norman would have to lock up and very late, as staff and the acts would expect a good late Xmas drink that night. 9 o’clock Norman left lottery Lenny on the door and after collecting a large scotch and a stool from the bar stepped up onto the stage. He placed the glass on a tall table to his left, lit a cigarette and just stared at the crowd. Doc watched on with great interest as he made some lighting changes. He respected Norman’s comedy and had considered managing him. Norman produced from his large jacket pocket a red fez, his size and dress allowed him to do a Tommy Cooper impersonation. With one hand he turned the stool upside down, “Just like that” he said. A mixed reaction from those that had noticed him. He pulled out a gun cigarette lighter, pointed it at the crowd, then he pulled the trigger, it produced a flame. He then put it back in his pocket, Doc created a gun shot sound, and Norman pretended he had shot himself in the thigh. Doc despatched onto the stage one of his helpers. She was stunning, dressed as a 60s’ magician’s assistant from her www.bibliotastic.com

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seamed stockings upwards. “The lovely Marsha,” announced Norman. She knelt down, unzipped his trousers, placed her hand inside, and pulled out a white, limp object which she placed in her mouth. The crowd now cheered into a frenzied state. Marsha stood up; moving away from Norman to reveal it was a silk sheet she was pulling out of his pants. Having extracted it, she bowed. Norman did his zip up. Marsha threw the material over the stool. Norman stepped forward, grabbed two corners. To the amazement of the now captive audience, he shook the silk sheet side to side and just kicked the stool from under it, straight off the side of the stage and out of site. He then held up the sheet to reveal the stool had vanished. A smoke bomb added to the fact that most of the audience could not see that section of the stage caused confusion. Norman received a massive applause, some for his Tommy Cooper con trick, more from those convinced he had made the stool vanish and many more just joining in. Marsha took her bows as she left Norman on stage. “The Spin Doctor, Ladies and Gentlemen, your compare for Xmas eve,” introduced Norman, as he genuinely limped off the stage as a result of kicking the stool with his shinbone. Doc rather pleased at Norman’s success having part devised the routine, now called for silence. He wore a Vicars collar. “I will ask you all please to remember the Religious hypocrisy, I mean significance, sorry, we always mix up those two, at Xmas. Here in an inn of all places we can just imagine if Joseph and Mary should call here looking for shelter for the night. Having paid a tenner each to get in, some fucking Aussie behind the bar would tell them we don’t do B and B. If they asked for their money back, the doorman would throw them out, troublemakers aye! You see it wasn’t Joseph’s fault, in those days things were different, he should know with a beard like that,” Doc pointed out a man near the front. “You see Joseph and Mary were just going away for Xmas, we take it for granted. But just think, they couldn’t book a hotel on the Internet in those days. No they had to walk hundreds of miles, up to the receptionist, got any rooms tonight, no, alright we better go home, spend a quiet Xmas. Off they go. But Mary’s pregnant, lets try an Inn says Joseph, I want en-suite says Mary. Women aye! Some things never change, that reminds me I only came up here to introduce, a woman, and here she is Betsy Norfolk.” Once described by a critic as the Queen of Monotone, Betsy took to the stage she started her routine as always. “Good evening, I’m Betsy Norfolk, well I’m Betsy and I’m from Norfolk. Of course most country girls are big old girls, but I was the last of the litter see.” Norman didn’t worry about the trickle of blood running down his leg, he propped himself up against the bar to watch Betsy. She was the only woman he really fancied since being deported to London. It was her that coined the phrase, “If you don’t laugh I’ll get my tits out.” She was tall, appeared flat chested and wore skin-tight stripy tops. However she turned men on big www.bibliotastic.com

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time. On the stage to compliment her top half she wore jodhpurs, riding boots and held a horsewhip. Much of her act was Norfolk country type stuff; Norman just gazed at her. She was thirty-ish, very white, with freckles and red hair; he had just fallen in love for the first time. Betsy did her size is important routine, “Look, all this, it’s what he does with it crap, forget it, there aint much to do with it, so the bigger the better, right, girls, girl power yeah. The price girls they should have been called, cause they all had one. ” Norman drooling by now felt Nancy pat him on the shoulder. She passed him on her way to the office. This was his cue to collect the door takings and take them through to her to cash up. He would also collect up the bulk of the bar tills cash. Having to take his eyes off Betsy left Norman with an empty feeling. Nancy was so pleased to hear Norman knock on the office door. She saw him on the desktop monitor and pressed the door release button. He had the notes in his enormous inside jacket pocket. Lottery Lenny had watched his back all the way. With the money on the desk, Nancy wrapped herself around her man. Norman managed to respond, but was still besotted with Betsy. He was ready for sex, Nancy was there and it was her shout. She turned her back on him leaned and braced herself on the desk. He lifted up her skirt, as she was not wearing knickers, he realised she had once again planned her sex for the day. Norman had no problem, still stiff from the sight of Betsy; he fucked Nancy so hard she wept with pleasure as she climaxed. Norman remained silent but satisfied; he noticed looking down a blond hair trapped in his watch-strap and recalled this was his second session of the day. Nancy cashed-up once alone again in the office. Back in the venue Norman caught the last act in full swing. Mickey Finn was an East ender. Doc couldn’t stand him, but audiences could. Much of his patter was about his fictional ex-wife and the ever-changing East End, taking the Mickey as he called it, out of the Nouveau Pauvre. ‘If my poor old Gran could see that,’ or, ‘It’s the fucking principal mate,’ he would bellow at the end of most sentences. “ My Mrs. silly cow, doesn’t know that petrol prices go up cause she always buys a tenner’s worth; she’s my exwife actually, moan, even now, reckons I’m earning a fortune and she’s only getting 99% of it. Before I started this stand-up lark you know, I ad a proper job, working in a newsagents, assistant Manager actually baldy not paper boy. ” He yelled into the crowd. “ As I was saying, fing that used to crack me up, Trade Mags. It doesn’t matter what it is they got a Mag. for it. Sandwich Weekly, I ask you, industrial Flooring Up-date, that must be an exciting read.” Norman applauded, he liked Mickey. “Vegetarian Sex Tips, no not really I just made that one up. Vegetarians though, aye, fucking right pain in the arses or what. Why do they always insist on going into restaurants, not Vegetarian Restaurants and the first thing they ask is what Vegetarian dishes do you serve. I ask you, come on come on. Having been www.bibliotastic.com

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offered a cheese salad or an omelette, they then complain how Vegetarians are never catered for. Ah, one fucking day I’m going to go into a Vegetarian Restaurant and guess what, yeah the first thing I’ll ask is, what Meat Dishes do you serve; fucking Hippies.” Nancy made her way through the crowd to Norman. “Alright if Lenny walks me to my door?” “Sure,” he nodded. “Have a nice Xmas day with your family, see you Boxing Day,” she whispered and kissed his ear. “Boxing day,” enquired Norman. “I always go to visit Katie and Ernest on Boxing Day, can’t wait, bye,” she shrilled over the laughter. “And anuva fing that winds me up, Stand-up Comedians,” continued Mickey. The evening finished in good humour, with many of the customers still laughing as they left the Two Buttocks in record time by 1.am Xmas day. Patrick and B.A. organised drinks for the staff. Mickey Finn had hung on for a free booze, as had Betsy Norfolk. Champagne on ice sat on the bar, Mickey proposed a toast, “Trevor McDonald,” he said. They all relaxed, settled into groups and reflected on the first part year of the Two Buttocks. The comics at their table were all trying to upstage each other in different ways. Norman sat with them but kept quiet; he chain-smoked and was drinking fast. Doc and his helpers left first. Norman then opened up, enjoying a conversation with Mickey. Betsy was more relaxed now it was just the three of them. The booze flowed. “Thank fuck he’s gawn,” insisted Mickey. “He’s made this place work though,” answered up Norman. “I’ll drink to that,” added Betsy. The bar staff wished the three a happy Xmas as their taxes arrived and Patrick went upstairs Norman locked the door behind them. He excused himself as he collected the bar tills and took them through to the office and into the safe. He then just sat behind the desk reflecting on his lot in life. B.A. was now fighting a losing battle with Mickey on the subject of her Art, “So why call it Ceramics if it’s Pottery,” he said. “I did Pottery at school, juniors though. Here’s a bit advice for you, if you want to make some serious dosh, invent a glaze that shit don’t stick to. Goodnight girls.”

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He downed the last of his drink and scarpered under the most contemptible stares imaginable out into the relative safety of the streets of East London. “Hating that little scumbag is perhaps all you and I have in common,” blurted B.A. through her braced teeth as she made her way upstairs to the flat. “Mickey says goodnight, B.A. doesn’t,” said Betsy as she entered the office. “I locked the doors behind them.” “Let’s get back to our drinks then,” said Norman in a nervous tone. He followed Betsy still dressed in her stage clothes back through to the bar. “I love sitting here when the customers have gone,” he said. “Yeah I can understand that,” she replied, “so Norman who are you and what brought you here?” Norman told her a well-edited version of his life story; as he left out Nancy and Katie, she asked him what he did for sex these days. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that, you know client confidentiality.” Betsy laughed. She asked him what he had planned for the Xmas day. He explained with head down. “You should come to mine,” she offered, “have your lunch with your family and then come over. I’m not going to my family till Boxing Day. Your company would be great; we can try out material on each other as we’re not rivals.” Norman accepted her offer. They continued to talk, Norman fancied Betsy like crazy, but he held back. His situation at that time was complicated enough; he thought perhaps he could have Betsy as a friend as they were kindred spirits. It was daylight as Norman suggested coffee now they had solved all the World’s problems. “If only the World’s leaders would sit down and get pissed together,” said Betsy. They left the Two Buttocks together at 8am Xmas day. Betsy headed off in the opposite direction to Norman. She would get a minicab home. “Phone me later Norman, if you can make it, or even if you can’t,” being her parting words. He waved; she noticed a book in his hand. Norman was pleased that Ernest and Katie were still fast asleep as he tiptoed up the stairs and back into the sanctuary of his room. He undressed, got into bed and prayed he would be undisturbed for a few hours at least. He had overlooked the Xmas lunchtime session he must attend with the family at the Prince of Wales. As Xmas day had fallen on a Thursday, the Two Buttocks would not re-open till the following Wednesday New Years Eve. It would then stay closed for re-decoration only to re-open on February the 14th. This change of routine for Norman was causing him much concern. He had talked to Doc about him possibly doing stand-up at other venues. All this was on his mind lying in his room as Ernest called him. “Come on www.bibliotastic.com

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Norman, it’s 11 o’clock, bathroom’s free, need to be down the Prince for twelve.” Norman, tired, confused but without a hangover responded. He ventured downstairs in good time to be greeted by Ernest and Katie both very excited at the day being Xmas. Katie had prepared the lunch which would slow cook ready for their return. “First drink is free,” said Ernest as the three set off. Soon they were all settled in the smoke filled Pub. The jukebox played the Xmas standards. Norman had to sit with Ernest and the lads from the brewery. Katie sat apart with her group of ladies. At 2 o’clock by tradition landlord Charles told them all to piss off to their homes, if they had one. ‘Sorry ladies for me French,’ he would say every year, confirmed Katie as they left. The smell of Katie’s cooking skills reminded Norman it was 24 hours since he last ate. He noticed Ernest and Katie seemed close for the first time since he arrived. The two men sat in armchairs, having helped themselves to their McNaughton’s supply. Ernest had poured Katie a very large sherry. She clearly was flattered by his new found manners an attention. Norman was just so relieved there was not a strained atmosphere. He even considered the possibility that he had dreamed of the sex with Katie and decided to leave it there. Pushing his luck even further he mentioned his invitation from Betsy. Ernest thought it about time Norman found a young lady, even if she was called Betsy and did turns. Katie seemed absolutely relieved. “She’s not a Lebanese is she? Lot of them about these days,” shouted Ernest. “He means Lesbian, Norman, but just ignore him,” shouted Katie even louder. Norman was sent into the hallway to phone his parents and wish them a happy Xmas, before being allowed his lunch. He nearly passed out waiting to tuck in. Next came presents from around the tree. Nancy had taken care of this for Norman, so all were very happy. Norman took note of these token gifts and their responses; he thought he could do a routine on this. As it was still just Daylight, he decided to check out if his invitation from Betsy was still on. He phoned her from the outside toilet as he relieved himself. “What’s that noise,” she enquired. “Just doing the washing up,” replied Norman. Betsy gave him her address. He made his excuses to Ernest and Katie and headed off for the local minicab office.

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“Dock head please,” asked Norman. A few minutes later just south of the river Norman caught sight of Betsy. He stopped the cab. She had insisted on meeting him there, as she needed to stretch her legs. Betsy lived alone and had spent the day so far, on her own. They went for a walk at first, she led him through some old back streets to the river; Norman loved it, all was new and exciting to him as they viewed Tower Bridge and sat on a metal bench. Norman had lived in the very small world of Ernest and Katie since coming to London whilst all this was just round the corner. They headed back to Dockhead and onto the wharf side apartment which was home to Betsy. Behind iron gates a cobblestone courtyard welcomed them. She lived on the ground floor. They entered though a solid wooden door. For Norman he had entered a new world. The apartment was like something out of a film, a massive studio apartment. A Zen space thought Norman, only the bathroom was not at first visible as they entered the huge living area. Not wishing to seem uneasy he settled into a massive armchair. Betsy called him over to the glass doors she had opened. There he marvelled in silence as the River Thames filled the wharf. Betsy pointed to the end of the block of apartments where the Thames flowed by. “I feed ducks from here and even swans come,” she exclaimed. The two then settled in the centre of the room. Betsy offered Norman red or white wine, he took red and got his own bottle, Betsy hers. The conversation easily picked up from their last meeting. Cigarette smoke hung in the air-changing colour as it passed through the coloured spotlights. The background music, unknown to Norman, seemed perfect to oil their time together. He braved a trip to the toilet, ‘It just gets better,’ he thought, ‘this is great, what a shower-room and a bath. He could see himself in the tub; it has space for drinks, perhaps a cigarette and relax just relax he thought, but not on your own, she must share this but with whom had Betsy shared all this?’ He returned to the main room, the incense now burning added to his wonder as Betsy smiled. They chatted for hours, she was interested in his career plans adding, “There is talk of you on the circuit you know, well Doc’s circuit anyway.” Norman discovered he had an ego, “Who were they and what was the circuit?” He asked in an embarrassed manner. Betsy explained it all to him, he may have become a stand-up by default, but he had to take control now. She would work with him, Doc was offering too, “So, Norman” she said, “make today the first day of the best of your life.” Norman sighed, “If only.” Betsy dimmed the lights as the river rose outside the apartment. “Just relax now for a while,” she whispered. Then changing the music to suit, she

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closed her eyes and dozed. Norman did the same, an hour passed with their silence. On opening her eyes, Betsy gazed at Norman for a while as if deciding. She then walked to him. As he slept she tugged his arm in time with his breathing. His eyes opened as she led him to the bathroom. There she undressed before entering the large shower room. Norman did the same as he came to his senses. In the showers she passed him fruit scented gels. The water was a perfect temperature, the noise like a waterfall. Betsy had her back to Norman as he massaged the gel into her soft skin working his way down her body. She then leant over the controls, he worked the lather between her legs and she turned the shower off. Norman convinced he must be in a dream, entered her easily. Betsy moaned with pleasure, she turned the showers back on gently. As he enjoyed her he had uninvited thoughts, he heard the John Lennon song in his head. ‘So this is Xmas and what have you done, I have fucked three women in 36 hours is what I’ve done, that’s one every 12 hours John, he smiled. Is this, what they call stand up comedy he asked himself,’ as they both climaxed then continued to shower. Betsy turned round showing her very small quite perfectly formed breasts to her lover. She held them in her hands offering them to him with bright pink erect nipples. He fondled them, “Follow me,” she said. Leading him first to the towel rack where they dried each other off, then through to her king-size bed back in the living area. The unmemorable perfect music was still repeating as in the darkened end of the room they enjoyed each others naked bodies, both bringing the other to climax again before falling into deep sleep. Norman awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking. He peered over the duvet to see Betsy in all her tall slender beauty moving around the apartment at lightning speed. She was cooking, cleaning and to his complete amazement practicing on her baby grand piano. He rose, not embarrassed by his nakedness, wished her a good morning, waved and walked through to the bath suit. After a great shower, he grabbed a clean towel and located his clothes. Back in the living area he lit a cigarette and swigged his glass of red wine. Betsy carried their cooked breakfast to a small table, set just inside the balcony doors overlooking the high tide. The room was very cold. She placed a bottle of red wine centre table. “Come Norman breakfast and fresh wine” she beckoned him. They tucked into a hearty, meaty breakfast washed down with the wine. The coffee that followed with sweet pancakes sobered the pair somewhat. “I think we can say we bonded last night Norman,” said Betsy, “Let’s stay friends for ever.” “Sounds just perfect to me,” Norman replied straight away and without any visible thought.

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It was still only 8am Boxing day. Norman cleared away the breakfast mess. Betsy returned to speeding round the room. She stripped the bed depositing soiled linen into her washing machine, produced fresh bedding and threw various personal items into a suitcase. “I have a taxi booked for 8.30,” Betsy announced. “It can take you home after it drops me off at Liverpool Street Station. I have to spend a few days with my family in Norfolk but I’ll call you when I get back.” They were soon in the cab and Norman returned home. He tiptoed to his room without incident, to await his next challenge. He continued with his reading. “That was Nancy on the phone,” Shouted Katie at Norman’s door waking him, “she’s on her way over.” Norman stirred, rolling over onto Nigel’s Zen book. He felt pretty clean after all that showering at Betsy’s, so just went to the bathroom to wet his hair. Back in his room he worked some gel into his head with his fingers. That done he braved the world of Ernest and Katie. She was busy in the kitchen and explained Ernest had been banished from the house to tidy the already tidy backyard. “He gives off some terrible smells Xmas time, same every year, all the rich food and the booze of course. Good job the brewery doesn’t smell like him else no-one would want to work there, or buy the beer,” she moaned. Then pulling the back door closed she addressed Norman, “Need a word really,” she started, “Xmas eve, awkward really, got me going again really, after, I got thinking how to put things right. It wasn’t that wrong! We are not related flesh and blood wise. But I’m still your Auntie, old one at that, so I just needed to move on for both of us really. Later that night, for the first time since that night the Labour party got in, I slept with Ernest.” “Well it is Xmas,” said Norman, “the time of giving, Auntie.” “That will do, thank you very much Norman,” he recalled this haute tone. “So no need to dwell on the past is there, certain things best left to lie.” “Of course Auntie Katie, talking of which, perhaps we could not mention Betsy today, with Nancy coming over I would prefer not to,” he added. “Best you tell Ernest that right now,” she said opening the back door, “he’s the blabber mouth.” Norman had a word with Ernest and they came inside together. “We should get along to the Prince now,” insisted Ernest. “Nancy will know where to find us.” The three set off just past mid-day. “Like old times,” said Ernest. “We don’t see so much of you Norman, since the two thingies opened.”

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“Buttocks,” shouted Katie, Norman laughed, they all laughed. Well, thought Norman to himself, ‘That’s one down, two still to get sorted on the women front.’ They entered the pub. Norman knew the plan. He would sit with Ernest and the lads from the brewery. Katie would sit with her ladies, to be joined by Nancy. Katie and Nancy would leave the pub to go to the house and get lunch sorted. Charles would throw Ernest and Norman out of the pub at 3.15. Lunch would follow, then Monopoly. Norman had told Katie he didn’t understand how more than one person could play Monopoly; she’d clipped him round the ear, “Smart ass,” she’d called him. The Prince of Wales was very busy, through the smoke rising from their table Norman saw the security man from the brewery walk by. He strolled over to the ladies table, leant over to whisper to Katie. She let out an enormous shriek, and then burst into inconsolable wailing. Her lady friends did try to comfort her, without success. Ted the security man stepped back turning to Ernest. Norman heard the words, “It’s Nancy, she has been killed in a car crash,” he said, “she was coming here in a minicab when a coach in the Old Kent Road hit them. The police told her family, they phoned the brewery, I’m so sorry.” Charles had stood beside Ernest as Ted broke the news, he went back behind the bar, turned the music off and then the lights. He sent his barmaids round telling customers a tragedy had occurred. It was 2 o’clock some customers, not locals, left out of respect. Charles passed around brandy bottles. Norman could not speak, or move. However as Katie’s cries became louder, he moved to her holding her tightly. He looked over at Ernest, flicked his head to invite him to come over and take his wife. Ernest just about got the hint and walked over; Norman gently passed Katie over to him. “Best if you take Auntie home,” he said. Ernest nodded and led his wife out of the pub. Her lady friends still wept, quietly. The Boxing Day had just ground to a halt. Norman sat back down with the lads from the brewery. Charles joined them, putting his hand on Norman’s shoulder, only to comfort him because he was the youngest to be effected by the news. No one knew he had been Nancy’s last lover. On this tragic day, Norman stayed put in the pub. He wanted to give Ernest and Katie time and privacy, after all it was their home and their friend, he thought long and hard. He decided to return home as planned at 3.15. He entered the house, Ernest was sat in his armchair, he told Norman, Katie had taken her painkillers and gone to bed. Norman switched off the oven, then poured brandy for the two of them. Charles had insisted he take a bottle home. They sat in silence as the room became darker and darker and then just dark. Norman’s cigarette glow providing occasional light. ‘Our www.bibliotastic.com

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little secret,’ those words he kept hearing in his head, Nancy had taken the secret with her now. Early evening Ernest rose from his chair, put his hand out to hold Norman’s, nodded his head and went to join Katie. The effect of the brandy caused Norman to feel nothing at this time; a little sick, wretched and lost perhaps, but no feelings he could focus on and deal with. He creped out of the house and walked the short distance to Nancy’s. There was a light outside, that came on in the dark Norman knew this. He sat on her wall and wept. When he could cry no more without looking back he returned home. There was plenty of brandy left in the bottle; he put the television on low volume allowing himself to be sucked into the programmes he was watching. Firstly he was a cowboy then a gangster, then asleep. This morning after Boxing Day being Saturday brought some familiar sounds, to awaken Norman. The milkman, the papers and junk mail rattling, even children playing with their Xmas presents. He had slept the whole night in the armchair, out of respect really and confusion. Having never known anybody before to die, Norman was on a learning curve. He heard noises from above, Katie then walked into the lounge. She had put the kettle on then sat at the table, lit a cigarette and looked over at Norman. “She was like the sister I wish I had, we were closer than I was with your mum,” said Katie. “Same sort of thing with me,” replied Norman. Katie not understanding his reply said, “If you want to get away from all of this, we would understand, come back in a few weeks or so, up to you, our problem.” “Nancy was my friend as well as my boss,” answered Norman, “so I will stay around if that’s O.K. with you two, I would like to help you both through this.” “Tea Norman, “she offered, “I’d better take Ernest up a cup.” Norman accepted her offer. The weekend had now got going. Norman and Ernest slouched around; Katie was busy on the phone. She talked at great lengths to Nancy’s family. As the three of them would not return to their work at the brewery until the first week in the New Year, Katie instructed the two men to start getting out from under her feet, as soon as they liked. She took to cleaning the house non-stop with old pairs of Ernest’s Y-Fronts as her way of dealing with Nancy’s death. Ernest did as he would always do in holiday time nothing, apart from go to the pub twice a day. There, Katie’s ladies were absent, often to be found visiting each other. Norman found comfort and understanding from reading Nigel’s book; in his room he waited for life to come to him, it did, via his mobile phone. www.bibliotastic.com

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Sunday evening, two calls. Betsy first, had suffered enough of Norfolk and was returning to London the following day. Paddy, concerned about the future of his Two Buttocks called just after. He wished to meet up with Norman at the venue the following day. Having now been motivated Norman ventured out to catch the last hour with Ernest at the Prince. The lads sat telling old brewery tales of former mates and how they had died. Norman could only stand this morbid time by wandering what plans Betsy and Paddy had for him in their heads. Early Monday morning, Katie set the routine for the rest of their time off. “I want you two down here for breakfast at 8.30 just imagine you’re in a hotel,” she said in sarcastic tone, “only in this one you both wash up after.” Her voice had echoed round the small upstairs. The two men made it on time; both demolished a full cooked breakfast. Whilst they washed up Ernest complained, “Katie why do we only get this condemnation in the winter?” It’s condensation you half-wit and do you want it in the summer as well?” Norman was embarrassed by their minor tiffs, but amused by Ernest’s misuse of words. Katie went on to talk of the funeral, ‘Nancy’s family would make all the arrangements. Katie would invite all that needed, from her side of the river. Nancy would be buried beside her late husband in South West London, on New Years Eve at mid-day.’ Ernest nearly chocked over his cup of tea. “New Years Eve!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “You have a problem with that dear, busy are you? I’ll explain,” whispered Katie, “her family feel she should be buried the same year as she died, so at great expense they have arranged it. I agree.” Norman’s phone rang allowing him to sprint back upstairs to safety. It was Paddy, “I’m at the pub now, come round when it suits, boy.” Norman grabbed his long black coat and set off the short distance. Outside the Two Buttocks he noticed a brand new Jaguar. Wonder how many laughs that cost, thought Norman, guessing it would belong to Paddy. “See you’re suitably dressed, Young Norman,” said Paddy, sat waiting in the bar. “The only coat I got.” Answered Norman, “but you’re right.” Paddy gestured, “Sit down son, we need to talk. I’m gutted, I can’t tell the wife, it’ll kill her stone dead. She’s only got months now herself.” He lowered his head. “Must talk though. The funeral’s New Years Eve. I will not open out of respect that night. We will re-open as Nancy planned

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Valentine’s night, good idea that was, there’s loads to get sorted here first though and regulation stuff now the fucking council’s found out we’re a venue. I would like you to take over as the manager here. She would have wanted that, what you say boy?” Norman thought the assumption that dead people, ‘Would have wanted that,’ as obscene as it gets. He bit his tongue and paused, “If you’re sure,” he answered. “Yes here’s my mobile number Norman, the work doesn’t start here till first full week in the New Year and we’ll talk before then. You’ll need to give your notice in at the brewery. See you at the funeral.” Norman left Paddy sitting there. He let himself out. Walking back home his thoughts were on Paddy, What sort of man was he?’ ‘Nancy knew.’ His life was again getting complicated, now he had to leave the brewery. He looked forward to hearing from Betsy; perhaps he could share all his news with her. Ernest was fleeing the house as he arrived, on his way to the snooker hall to meet up with the some brewery lads, to pass the morning. Norman just nodded as he passed Katie on the way to his room. Neither wanted small talk. Behind the closed door he continued to read Nigel’s book. Having been an only child an adopted one at that, he had meditated for years at home, thinking it was boredom and loneliness, only now to discover it was religion. He relaxed into his read, only to stop when his phone rang. It was early afternoon, it was Betsy. The line was bad, she was on a train. A railway bridge cut the call off; she phoned back. “Hi Norman,” she screamed into his ear. Can you meat me today? I can’t hear you, come to my flat, 3 o’clock please, bye.” She could have heard Norman, he knew that, but she wanted it her way. He was now delighted and returned to his book giving it the most serious consideration. 3 o’clock, Norman got out of a cab and rang Betsy’s doorbell from the large iron gates that led to the courtyard. She answered, releasing the entry lock for him. He walked through to her apartment situated on ground floor level; the front door was left just open. He ambled into the lounge. There, Betsy was busy, cooking for the two of them. She faced and greeted him. “It’s so good to see you. Family is so hard, friends are so easy, and I need to talk to you so much.” “So so,” said Norman. Betsy laughed. “Let’s eat and drink and smoke and work and have sex in that order,” she shouted.

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The two worked well together, Norman prepared the table to overlook the high tide and Betsy poured wine as she threw all sorts of ingredients into a large wok. Flames shot up as she missed with one hand full. They needed each other and now they had each other. They ate in the freezing cold with the balcony doors open. Both seemed happy to do this, a pop video was projected onto a large screen, Norman enjoyed Betsy’s world. After a poppadom was blown off the table, Betsy asked Norman to close the doors. “Sorry about that, but I just love to air out the flat,” she explained. “I have some very sad news,” stated Norman, “Nancy has been killed on Boxing Day in a car crash. She was very close to my family. Paddy the owner of the Two Buttocks, not literally, well yes literally has made me the new manager.” Betsy re-lit a candle before her reply, “That is indeed very sad news, I didn’t really know Nancy. Doc spoke highly of her.” She then lit another cigarette off the candle and spoke again, “You are now a powerful man Norman Frank Junior Smith, sure glad I’m fucking you, Mr. President,” she laughed and so did Norman. She continued in her American accent, “So why not stick around for a couple of days honey, let me show you my new act.” Norman used his mobile, “Hi Katie sorry to disturb you, just to let you know. I am going to be staying a couple of days with Betsy. I will see you for the funeral, take care.” Betsy cleared away their empty plates; they sat and drank more of the wine. Norman mentioned his reading Nigel’s book on Zen. “Pity Nigel didn’t read it,” said Betsy, “might not have gone off on one, still. So you will need to meditate now Norman if you want to control all that has falling into your lap including me, pardon the pun. You see, with you being a stand up guy, in the comedy sense of course, it’ll keep the Doc on his toes.” “He wants to manage me,” replied Norman, “get me out to other venues.” “That could be a very complicated affair now.” “I will talk to him after the funeral; our crowd will end up at the Prince.” “Let’s go for a long or short walk along the riverside. Then when we get back the flat will be roasting. More wine and anything you want Mr. President,” her acting made Norman laugh as he agreed to their walk. “Gee it’s just like in the movies,” Norman now acted with Betsy. They played American tourists as they walked and talked. On their way back Betsy insisted they both do a stand up routine. She did her, ‘Horse riding can be very satisfying my dearys.’ Norman had not heard it before, he was

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impressed. He did his ‘Is there a doctor in the house,’ Betsy was even more impressed. “Tomorrow,” exclaimed Betsy, “let’s work on our routines. I will coach you! And you I! Kind sir, for together we shall rule. You the king of standup and me the Queen, what say you my noble Lord?” “Buttocks, the Two Buttocks,” Norman replied, “that will be our castle wench.” Their pace now quickened, the cold night brought on their sexual desires. On their return they were not to be denied them. The following morning, Norman’s mobile woke the pair from their entangled sleep. He wandered over to admire the tide filling the wharf as he listened to Katie. She confirmed the following day’s funeral arrangements. ‘The brewery bosses had booked a coach to take their workforce and companions to the event. The char-a-banc as Ernest had named it would depart from the brewery at 10.45am sharp. No drinking allowed on the journey.’ Betsy over-heard the conversation; she gagged her amusement, under the duvet, but only just. Norman with the call completed returned to bed, much to Betsy’s delight. “Do you want to come?” he asked. “Yes please,” responded Betsy as she climbed on top of him. “No not that, I meant the funeral, wench.” “Let me just dismount,” she said. “Difficult to think in the saddle. I guess your family will need your undivided support. I will meet you back at the Prince later O.K.” “You’re just perfect,” said Norman as he lifted her back on top of himself. They got up mid-morning, and knocked up breakfast between them. After they settled down in the easy chairs. With fresh coffee and cigarettes on tap, they started under the direction of Betsy to work. She pushed him hard, he had good observations on life and Betsy would bring it all out, but not in a day. She insisted he keep going, so he did. Early afternoon, Norman had gone to the toilet. Betsy quickly made a phone call. “Hi Doc I must be quick, he is good, I mean promising and he’s reading that book on Zen you gave Nigel, that might even help. I’ll call you tomorrow, cheers, fucking answer phones!” Norman returned and demanded a break. Betsy dragged him off to a local restaurant. All the staff knew Betsy and they made the couple welcome, Norman loved it and fell deeper into Betsy’s world. They spent over two happy hours before staggering the short distance back to the apartment. After having a pot of coffee to sober up, Betsy pushed on with more of the same for Norman. She provoked him to perform. www.bibliotastic.com

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“Politics,” she screamed, “fucking politics, what about that. Let’s talk politics, no, you talk politics. Tony Blair now there’s a big fucking target.” Norman bit, “Well he did heal a lot of people, that first time he walked into Downing Street. It was even better than Jesus, cause it was on the tele, so the whole world saw it live. It was the second coming and he was English, just like the Beatles and Frank Bruno and Carol Vorderman. But then they got to him, M I 5 or was it 6, just like the C I A with Kennedy, they thought he was Jesus so they killed him. But over here, they thought no no no, we can’t get away with that. So they drugged him, that’s why he started to play the guitar, so then he was fucking stoned all the time man. Then he was so fucking out of it he starts bombing other countries, claiming he’s got to save us cause we are the chosen ones. Now wars, that’s a funny one, unless you’re in the front row of course. You know that’s one of the few opportunities that poor people get in life to be at the front of the queue. Only of course because it’s the queue for death. You never hear much about the Swiss Army do you. I suppose those Swiss Army Knives don’t exactly scare the fuck out anyone unless you’re an unopened tin of beans or a bottle of beer. The Swiss still have conscription, yeah even the likes of Roger Federer have to do their bit. I don’t know, which is more scary the Swiss Army Knife or a tennis ball.” “Not bad,” said Betsy. “For a bit of spontaneous, it’ll do. But if we are going to get you going, it’s a diet of comedy, comedy and more comedy for you. More coffee? ” Both lit up as they sat back and chatted of life, death and the bits between. Norman expressed his view, ‘That all athletes should be allowed to take drugs. “The public deserve honesty, this guarantees it, and the events would be better to watch. Imagine the mile as a sprint, why the fuck not. It’s the only way people will keep watching this stuff. What about those paraplegics they don’t get drug tested, they must be on drugs man, see how fast they fucking go. What about those cameramen. They are such perverts; they get right up there with those cameras. Did you know mens’ athletics has a massive gay audience, at home of course? They invite some friends round, few beers, next minute they got 8 massive dicks running towards them on their wide screen. It doesn’t get more interactive than that; it’s porn on the beeb. That’s what you pay your fucking licence for, subsidising minority T.V. Where can you find a family programme these days aye, even the nature programmes are full of animals shagging each other, gives my dog a hard on.” Betsy just let Norman rant on; he had a whole lot to say about D.I.Y. shows on the tele. He was learning his new trade well; having listened to countless others perform at the Two Buttocks over the last six months. Somewhat exhausted they took to the shower room, and then rounded their evening off in bed watching old movies. Norman was finding all this www.bibliotastic.com

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rather surreal before the wine got the better of him and he joined Betsy in a deep sleep. Betsy woke him for sex at daylight, having put some breakfast onto cook. “Just a quickie,” she whispered into his ear, “Multi-tasking they call it now.” Norman was nervous before attending his first funeral He received a call over breakfast from Paddy. He would be giving a lift to Doc and some of the staff. It was very cold as Norman set off back home; he walked to a nearby cab office to get some fresh air and exercise. He was aware he had spent a long time in the flat. The cab soon pulled up outside Ernest and Katie’s tiny house. They had dressed ready to go in good time. Ernest sat at the dining table forbidden to move, Katie was tidying up. The house was in mourning, no tele or even Ernest’s radio permitted. Norman mused if he should strangle the cuckoo in the front room clock, but kept this to himself. At 10.30 the three set off on the short walk to the Brewery.

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Chapter Five - Three Comedians and a Funeral

The coach was on time. A seat had been reserved for Norman beside Lottery Lenny. They sat just behind Ernest and Katie. Lenny spent the whole journey studying probabilities, his latest assault on the Lottery. Smoking was allowed causing poor visibility on board. With no airconditioning on the old coach, the driver kept opening the front door to bring in fresh air, which froze the brewery workers into stony silence. Nancy’s family watched the arrival fall out of the coach in a cloud of smoke; it was a pantomime. Katie and Nancy’s sister wore veils; they hugged and cried at everything. Lenny tried to get investors for his new lottery system. All the lads from the brewery had cigarette ash on their creased suits. The cold had brought out their booze red noses and goose bumped wives who were spilling out from both ends of their 60s outfits. The brewery boss was unable to attend, being still locked up for drunken driving from the night before. Norman was asked to speak up as he was the most educated of the brewery contingent. He was able to deliver the feelings of all from the brewery well enough to keep Katie crying. Nancy’s sister unable to speak had delegated her words to her husband. He would of made a good stand-up thought Norman. The Vicar tried to convince everyone Nancy had gone to a better place, “An easy argument to win these days,” remarked Lenny to Norman. It had been agreed before hand, a toast would take place at the graveside, after which friends and family would go their separate ways. Lenny known as a member of the local toastmasters’ guild presided by default. “Nancy Trollope,” he managed. ‘Nothing to controversial with that,’ Norman advised him on their return journey. Paddy had gone to the wrong cemetery before getting a puncture; Doc had been unable to find the jack whilst Paddy kept warm in the car. The break down service had got them back on the road just in time to hear and drink to Lenny’s toast. Charles at the Prince of Wales had laid on a modest spread for their return. He was an old fashioned landlord and didn’t agree with, ‘Food or Women in pubs.’ Norman was determined not to get drunk today, well not there anyway. He sat with Patrick, Doc. and the barmaids from the Two Buttocks. Again Lenny got to toast Nancy, he stuck to his tried and tested “ Nancy Trollope.” They all stood for this as he directed and it seemed to now relegate Nancy to just another old brewery tale. Shortly after, Ernest took Katie off home. Norman and his staff made small talk having agreed to meet up the following week to discuss the New Year at the Two Buttocks. Patrick

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had to return to his day job, leaving Norman and Doc to exchange a few words; they went up to the bar for more drinks. Patrick’s a Hospital Porter weird aye” whispered Norman. “All this has really got to me,” started Doc, “I know you and her were close.” “We weren’t close,” replied Norman, “she would not have let anybody get there. But the news of her death was devastating, that book has helped me cope.” He was interrupted as Betsy arrived at the bar; she kissed both men, smiled and joined them at their table. First she got Norman’s account of the day followed by the Doc version. Having been deserted by their colleagues, Norman, Doc and Betsy decided to call in at the Two Buttocks. Switching on just the exit sign lights not to show their presence, they shared a bottle of red wine. Norman’s ringing of a £10 note into the till echoed. The three toasted Nancy, “Goodbye from the Two Buttocks.” “At least no one said those grating words, at least she didn’t suffer, added Doc.” “I’m not fucking surprised,” snapped Norman, “she was crushed to death by a lorry.” “No, you know what I mean.” Pleaded Doc, “when people say, at least it was sudden or they didn’t suffer a long illness. When they really mean, thank fuck it was quick so no-one else had to suffer with them. I hate that.” “Can we change the subject please,” enquired Betsy. The men nodded and the conversation gently drifted into the three of them working together on Norman’s stand-up career. Betsy confessed she had, ‘Known old Doc for yonks and she had been at University with his wife Shauna.’ Adding that, “She suffered from compulsive disorder order, but a real career lady now, wish I had her salary to spend, aye Doc oh! I forgot, you do.” “Aye Doc is a race course I believe,” answered Doc in a laughing and mocking tone. Early that evening they taxied round to Betsy’s local eatery. She suggested they “Get in and out before the New Years Eve brigade arrived, wearing their silly hats, blowing those awful plastic things. And of course tonight is mobile phone eve. There will be enough fucking radiation bouncing about to keep the food hot on their plates for hours.” The two men laughed at Betsy as they ate their starters, a free bottle of red wine had been placed on their table by the restaurateur. www.bibliotastic.com

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“I think there’s a sad irony to New Year’s Eve,” added Doc, “reminds me of the turkeys looking forward to Xmas gag. It’s weird people actually celebrating being a year nearer to death.” “I’ll drink to that,” responded Nancy, “Norman!” “I’ll drink and eat to that,” he announced and he did. A much lager human specimen than his companions, he consumed, ‘A mountain of food washed down by a passing river of red wine,’ pointed out Doc as he turned a touch rather poetic with the assistance of, ‘The cooking brandy,’ as he claimed just prior to falling back off his chair into the lap of a women trying to breastfeed her baby. Doc had a fresh shaven head this day and for a brief moment it looked like the women had three breasts. Her partner, a six foot female and would-be Worlds Strongest Women contestant, insisted Doc, ‘Voz very drunk,’ in a German accent and he should, ‘Leaves ze restaurant.’ Norman stood up towering over the situation, picked Doc up as he had done at the venue one evening. He pointed out to the still smiling waiter, that he had left plenty of money on the table, “Buy the kid a milk on me and have a drink yourself Marshall, we’re leaving town.” He added. To the amazement of other diners the three left, Norman still carrying Doc like a puppet, shouting, ‘Auf Wiedersehen Pet,’ loudly back at the outraged Fräulein. Outside they all fell about with laughter, the fresh air brought Doc round enough to stand on his own. Norman and Betsy through silent mutual consent walked him back to her place. There they laid him on a sofa placing the glass of wine he requested by his side, then he fell into a deep sleep. Norman and Betsy shared a pot of coffee and a packet of cigarettes as they watched another tide send the river past the apartment for their added pleasure. This was the most if not the first exciting period in Norman’s life. He still had the significance of the day engraved on his mind but could not bring Nancy back to life, so he had moved on and into the shower room with Betsy. They both slept as a New Year started only to be woken by Doc playing the piano in the early hours. He then played them back to sleep before he tiptoed away, leaving a thank you note stuck to the wc; It read Doc was here P.S. thanks for the meal ‘It voz good ya!’ It was just before mid-day the two started to take stock of their hangovers from under the duvet. Betsy produced sparkling medication in the form of chilled Moet, orange juice and painkillers. They then opted for a light breakfast, toast, coffee, cigarettes and sex. A mid-afternoon walk was initiated by Betsy; they walked up to London Bridge along the riverbank. She took him over the bridge for a glimpse of the City. When near to dropping of post over-indulgence she hailed a passing cab and directed it homeward.

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They broke their journey to return to the scene of Doc’s attempt at returning to the breast. The restaurant owner welcomed them in. They enjoyed late afternoon tea and cakes, the place was busy with families. The would-be comics studied the other customers. “Mainly families that had been unable to get baby sitters New Years Eve,” remarked Betsy, “so here they are a New Years Day family treat. All desperate to get out of the house. They’ve suffered Xmas, just look at them. He is desperate to get back to work, she is desperate for him to get back to work and those little brats are the worst things that could have happened to that relationship. They will drive it apart as they force it to stay together.” Norman listened at her bitterness and agreed. “Right that’s our cue to fuck off, here that music,” said Betsy, “That’s the Gypsy Kings doing, ‘My Way.’ It doesn’t get any sadder than this. They walked back towards the apartment. Betsy suggested there should be an equivalent to rehab clinic for those overweight Mums in the restaurant. “They could call it reheat,” she shrieked with delight, “let’s go see a new film.” After a freshen-up they headed back out to the West End, again another new experience for Norman. The film they agree is just O.K. and leave before the end. After an emergency visit to a McDonalds they high jacked an off duty taxi and bribe him for a lift home. Armed with a bottle of vintage red, to compliment the big-Macs Betsy served up a late dinner. “Could never understand why they took to calling these Freedom Fries in the states last year,” remarked Betsy, “fuck it all up again fries, maybe.” After they had eaten, she turned up the cable music channel on the TV. on her way to produce a huge chocolate gateau from the fridge. She danced her way to the shower room, leaving Norman behind. He followed her and then dressed in matching bathrobes they ate the entire desert washed down with another bottle of red before falling into a pair of armchairs. A couple hours watching the latest pop videos consisting mainly of near naked young firm flesh reminded the pair of sex, so they had lots before their day ended. “The holiday is over,” were the first words Betsy spoke to Norman next morning. “We need to see Doc today. So much to plan, your very own stand-up career, the new year at the Two Buttocks and there’s me of course. You will need a comediennes touch in all of this you know.” Norman nodded as he wondered what she had in her mind. Betsy noticed this, adding, “As the boss, it’s time you made your first executive decision Norman.” “And that should be?” he asked. “To hire me, of course, as your trusty assistant,” she replied, “you, Doc and me, what a team. Look do I have to fuck you again to get this job or what.” “No, you have the job Miss Norfolk,” he answered. www.bibliotastic.com

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“I’ll fuck you anyway,” she screamed. “Anyway?” enquired Norman as he whispered his fantasy into her ear. They lost most of the morning, without a care. After a light and nonalcoholic late breakfast, Betsy left Norman to amuse himself while she went off on a long bike ride. He chatted to Katie on the phone. She was dreading going back to work the following week and having to sit in the office and look at an empty desk once occupied by Nancy. Norman did his best to comfort her, even offering to return home to start the new week with them. With Betsy out for such a long time, he returned to Nigel’s book soon becoming engrossed in it, deciding he perhaps should believe in something, so this would do for now. Betsy found him sitting in a deep window ledge meditating on her return; disturbed, he claimed to have nodded off. “You can’t fool me, you fucking old hippie,” laughed Betsy, “you’ve been reading that book and meditating. Well I’ve been meditating too, whilst riding my bike and decided we should go and pay the Doc a visit, right now.” She telephoned Doc; he was delighted to hear she and Norman were on their way. As they left the apartment, Betsy pointed at a car Norman had noticed on his visits. “Get in then,” she said, as the key concealed in her hand opened the door locks from six paces. Norman struggled before giving up with the seat belt. Betsy speeded away. This was to be another new experience for Norman. They crossed Blackfriars Bridge to head north, passing Kings Cross, Camden Town and the Round House at Chalk farm before the steep climb to Hampstead. Before the tube station they turned left and entered, “Poodle Land,” as Betsy called it, “these Mansion blocks are full of eccentrics apart from the old ladies with their poodles, look there’s one. And of course there’s Doc, his career four-wheel drive wife and three, yes that’s three brats, Faith, Hope and Charity.” “Lovely names,” remarked Norman. “Not if your surname is Case,” replied Betsy. “Oh I see, Charity-Case, oh dear.” “As I was saying they all live with his mother in-law, now there’s a real fruitcake for you. She stopped giving her old clothes to the charity shop; reckons she saw Osama Bin Laden wearing one of her favourite dresses on the tele. Don’t worry she’s on her winter cruise. Shagging her way through the crew in order of rank, probably down in the boiler room by now. Well she has been at sea since November.” Betsy pulled the car up to a halt on the hand brake, “Just like riding a horse, here we go and don’t let me drink.”

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Doc greeted them, “Welcome to Her Majesty’s Prison Hampstead, the family’s out today.” “That’s a relief,” exclaimed Betsy, “I forgot my child spray.” “I guess you’re still a member of the Norfolk Friends of Herod Society Betsy,” replied Doc as he showed his visitors into a massive lounge decorated in various colonial styles. There were three statues two Buddha, one was laughing. Beautiful rugs were placed between the large leather sofas. The writing on a mirror in the hallway read, ‘Yes you are funny.’ “I see you’re still a member of the Hampstead Friends of Harrods Society.” “Touché Betsy, this is bit like living in a museum really,” said Doc. “Bit,” replied Betsy, “totally I should think.” “Totally like living in a museum then,” said Doc. They all laughed and hugged each other. “Let’s play hide and seek,” suggested Betsy. “Tea for three my dear,” ordered Doc, “off you go; Norman and I will be in the smoking room.” Betsy walked off towards the kitchen giving Doc the V sign as she wiggled her ass at the two men. “If I was 30 years older, I’d pay her for sex,” Doc concluded. “In thirty years time she’ll pay you for sex,” replied Norman somewhat in awe of his surrounds. “You know Norman, the World is a call centre and it does my head in. I wasted hours today trying to explain to some poor chap in the middle of India about my Internet connection problem. I ended up feeling guilty, he probably shares his pittance of a wage with his whole family and I’m moaning about my broadband. I should do a routine on that really; lighten it up a bit of course.” The two waited for Betsy to join them with the tea and biscuits. As she sat down, Doc piped up, “You can be mother dear for our tea ceremony.” “Sounds painful,” replied Betsy as she poured, “a toast, Clare Short.” They raised their teacups. “Now let’s get down to business,” suggested Doc. They found talking easy. Norman announced Betsy would assist him at the Two Buttocks. The 14th of February would still be the re-opening of the

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venue. As the work being done there would only take place day- time, the three would rehearse some evenings as well as audition new acts. Doc had some bookings for Norman in January, a quiet time on the circuit. He would not use his, ‘Norman the Doorman,’ current stage name. After some consideration he came up with ‘Zen Warwickshire.’ Doc seemed pleased with that and poured more tea for his guests. “Why, Zen Warwickshire?” asked Betsy. “A bit like you really, I’m from Warwickshire.” “And the Zen bit?” she said. Norman pulled Nigel’s book from his large coat pocket and slapped it on the table. Doc recognised it and then realised that it was in fact he that had inspired Norman’s new stage name. He laughed, “Good old Nigel he helps you out when you want to get in.” After all agreed to meet up at the Two Buttocks after the weekend, Betsy drove Norman away from North London. “Your place or mine,” she asked. “Surprise me,” he replied as she pulled up outside her local restaurant. “I’m paying, is that a big enough surprise?” “That’ll do me,” he answered. They had dinner during which Norman mentioned he would return home the following morning as Katie needed his support through the weekend and at work on Monday. He must also give notice at the Brewery, “Couple of weeks I guess,” he said nervously. Betsy was on form, “I’ll drink to that me dearie, another bottle of this fine old wine,” she hollered at the owner. He was still amused by their last visit with Doc and presented the wine as a gift. This turned out to be a long stay in the restaurant. They could hear thunder in the distance and after several large brandies and strong coffee they decide to head off to the apartment. They would have to leave the car parked in the street and walk the short distance. Just as they passed by, the darkened sky above them was sliced in two by a streak of awesome lightning. They dived for cover inside the car, the street was deserted and the rain dense as the car windows steamed up whilst they engaged in what turned out to be sexual foreplay. Against Norman’s advice Betsy started the engine and drove the short distance up to the apartment-block gates. “Sanctuary,” she cried out as they opened on her remote, “we made it.” The courtyard was packed out with cars so Betsy parked just inside the gates. As they walked on, the rain was filling every crevice in their path. Betsy wanted to play in the courtyard. She jumped into the puddles and www.bibliotastic.com

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kicked water at Norman, he ran off to shelter. Next, to his amazement she propped herself out in the open up against a wall, allowing the rain to cascade over her. It was as if she was under a waterfall and in the cold and wet her nipples showed erect through her thin white blouse. Norman watched and would control himself no more. He moved in on her. She slipped away running into a covered parking area. Then on the bonnet of a neighbours car, having taken off her knickers she offered herself face down. Norman glad of at least some privacy in the shadows, lifted her short wet skirt and fucked her. They were both detached from the world by now soon climaxing together, this set the car alarm siren screeching and the lights flashing, they fled the scene. Back inside the apartment laughing they hung up their drenched clothes, hot showered and fell asleep in the king-size bed within minutes. They slept through to the following mid-day. Their breakfast was light, lingering over a pot of strong coffee and cigarettes they chatted. Betsy opening up a bit explaining that she temped for a living. “You’re not kidding,” added Norman. “Ha ha ha Mr. Funny guy. I mean office stuff, you know, web design work if I can get it. I did the Two Buttocks site for Doc, not that I got paid for that of course and I just hate technology anyway. I reckon E-mails and Texts are just two more ways for people to ignore me.” “I was a temp since college, unskilled though. Got sent to some scary factories, even an abattoir,” Norman admitted. “Oh, you speak French Norman.” “I had nightmares after that, still do, that’s life.” “Don’t you mean death? You want a lift home? ” Norman declined her offer, “You still got enough alcohol in you to last a week,” he told her, then set off walking to the bus stop. The trip home he found interesting and it gave him time to prepare to re-enter the world of Ernest and Katie, he planned to continue reading his book that weekend. Once inside those red brick walls he remembered what a prison it could have been. The house was quiet, Katie in her room Ernest just back from the Prince, now eating. “Katie will be pleased you’re back home,” Ernest blurted out between mouthfuls of stew, Norman ducked the spit. Katie was pleased to see him, “Now we can all face Monday together,” she insisted. The weekend dragged by for Norman. Ernest was back into his routine, Katie only ventured out for essential shopping. Norman was feeling like a teenager again, in his room he read, tried meditating and responded when www.bibliotastic.com

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called down to eat. The lack of life did however give him time to work on new routines. He decided against contacting Betsy, he had business at home and at the brewery to deal with. Monday morning Ernest returned to work early on his own, leaving Norman to escort Katie into her office. Duty done Norman returned to work himself. Having later in the day given in his notice to Lenny, he felt relieved as he returned home that evening. Katie went off to bingo, Ernest was at the Prince playing darts, and Norman was delighted with his total privacy. He ate the stew Katie had left out and watched the TV. Soon his phone got busy. First was Paddy, off loading anything resembling work at the venue. Next, Doc, he had been offered a cheap holiday and was phoning from an airport Norman had never heard of, “Just a couple of weeks or so,” he shouted over the top of the departure announcements. “Oh, that’s me. Betsy will cover, I’m paying her. Got your first gig booked, 31st. January, must fly, cheers.” Norman was still stunned from the news of his first gig when Betsy called up, “Remember me?” she asked, “I’m the one you fucked over the bonnet of that Audi the other night and I’m still sore.” “I vaguely remember fucking somebody, you’re sure it was an Audi? Looked more like a Ford,” “Well it sure felt like an Audi,” argued Betsy, “be funny if it belonged to that Fräulein in the restaurant, especially if she’d seen us, or heard us, or both. There are cameras in the courtyard; I hope we don’t end up on, you’ve Been Framed.” They laughed and chatted away for an hour, mainly on the merits of staying single, just one of their growing numbers of common interests. January was flying by for Norman and Betsy, with Doc extending his holiday via E-mails to the venue office. “He always brings gifts back and claims they’re not tourist souvenirs,” added Betsy. “You know that, I met this guy and he took me to his home and his blind mother makes these beautiful necklaces bull-shit, I fucking hate that one.” Lenny had let Norman off with little notice from the Brewery, in return for some Doorman work. The builders seemed to have dragged out the job till another came along. Then left, leaving Norman a week of cleaning up. However, he got through even seeing the funny side of things. At last the three sat down in the office of, ‘The New Two Buttocks,’ as Doc now called it. He was full of praise for Norman and Betsy or, “Guilt,” Betsy claimed was more likely. “I never have more than one holiday at a time though,” Doc insisted, “and the kids needed a break.”

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“Yeah from you,” suggested Betsy, “anyway, where did you go?” “The States, Long Island.” “What was it like?” “Long and surrounded by water.” “That must have been a shock,” added Norman. “No, not really.” “Someone told me there’s an old blind lady that makes beautiful necklaces on that Island.” “Oh really Norman! I just brought you all back duty free cigs; you can make a necklace out them if you like, you fucking wind-up merchants.” Betsy roared with laughter. She then noticed Doc’s passport on his desk. “I must just see your photo,” she found it. “Not bad Doc,” she exclaimed, “a very handsome pose.” “Well it would be would it not, it’s a photograph dear and they never lie, ‘I can never get the, oh! don’t look at my passport picture it makes me look what-ever.’ You know that Naomi Campbell and George Clooney have never had a bad passport photo. That’s because their good-looking, like me. It’s only ugly people that have ugly passport photos believe me I’m a Doctor. The three were excited and were enjoying each others’ company. Doc revealed the identity of Norman’s first away gig. It was to be The MicroWave in West London, on Saturday 31st of January. “You cut that a bit fucking fine Doc,” exclaimed Betsy. “Get away you ugly old hag,” replied Doc as they went on to other matters. With their meet up concluded, Betsy offered Doc a lift home. “He hates pubic transport,” she pointed out to Norman as he locked the venue door behind them. He then ran through some of his new ideas on the stage. Later as he walked home and stopped off to sit on Nancy’s wall. He fought hard to hold back his tears. The rest of the week was fun for the three, Doc holding auditions and rehearsals each day. Betsy was very busy in the office, working for the venue and Doc; Norman finding his feet, then losing them, then trying to find them again. He was getting nervous, as Saturday 31st was getting nearer.

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Doc had provided their transport to the Micro-wave; an old minicab driven by a Rastafarian pulled up outside of Norman’s home. Ernest and Katie insisted on giving him a wave off. Doc and Betsy were waving madly back as the cab pulled away. Norman knew they were only winding him up so he joined in the waving and it stopped; only he noticed as the cab passed a, ‘For Sale,’ sign outside Nancy’s house and his thoughts turned to her. Doc explained that Betsy was first up on stage that night and that Norman would close the first half of the show. “By the way,” added Doc, “did I mention I am compare tonight, No! I thought I did, a senior moment perhaps.” Norman mused to himself on these new revelations.

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Chapter Six - Back to Work

The cab hit the curb outside of The Micro-Wave. “Who put dat ting dare,” complained their driver. Norman only noticed that people were queuing and this turned his stomach. He had expected only a quiet first away gig in January. They entered through a side door and tailed by their driver. Once safely inside Doc took them off to the backstage bar and dressing area. Norman was being introduced by the others to the rest of the night’s acts. They were all managed by Doc and they had heard about Norman. He however decided to play it cool with them; Doc noticed his confident manner and liked it. After some delays, Betsy was introduced, following some weird patter from Doc on his holiday capers. Norman was not amused. Betsy however, he found quite funny. She only received a polite response from the crowd and that irritated Norman. He studied the other acts, on and off the stage. He liked the guy who was billed as the Thompson Twins. There had been legal problems at first over the name copy- right. Doc said they had won, as he was in fact a solo act. Norman started to get into stage mode. “You’re up now,” whispered Betsy. Norman got out of his easy chair, shook his trousers downwards and waited. He heard Doc start his introduction, “A special event coming up, right now, right here, he’s a big fucker so don’t laugh at him, it’s Mr. Zen Warwickshire.” Norman slowly walked out onto the stage; he had the confident style of a television chat show host. The audience were clearly intimidated by his presence and hung on his every move. “Is there a Doctor in the house,” he shouted into the microphone. “Yes,” answered a bearded gent, as luck would have it sat down at the front. “There’s always fucking one, out there,” shouted Norman as he pointed to the Doctor, “you ever noticed, you’re at the theatre, the cinema, or on a luxury cruise and someone shouts out is there a Doctor in the house, why the fucking house anyway, you could be at sea for fucks sake. Anyway where ever, there’s always one. Go to a fucking hospital, I need to see a Doctor please; you got no fucking chance. Phone your surgery, I need to see the Doctor; you got no fucking chance. You really want to see a Doctor, book a flight, wait till the plane is right up in the fucking air; stand up and shout is there a Doctor in the house and in seconds you’ll get one, easy Doctor. Are they all off on some quest to find the Holy Gallstone. Because they’re never

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at fucking work, they’re always at the theatre or the cinema or on a fucking luxury cruise or up in an airplane some-where. Failing that, just go along to your local comedy venue. I rest my case.” He moved away from the microphone lit up a cigarette and addressed the crowd again. “Any passive smokers in tonight, good. Fucking freeloaders, should buy their own. I gave up last week; it’s fucking easy I’ve done it loads of times. I read in the newspaper it can be very bad for your health; so I gave up reading. If I book into a hotel you know with my girlfriend, oh, yeah, yeah. I got a girlfriend. ” He pointed to a young man with his girlfriend, “you hoped I was gay, wish I was it’s cheaper isn’t it? Oh sorry, are you with her? You should have gone to spec-savers darling. Anyway as I was saying in a hotel yeah, she has to have a room with a bath she tried a shower once but her cigarette got wet. As we’re talking healthcare, another thing, going to the dentist these days. Why do we stand for it? They charge us huge amounts of fucking money give you an injection that doesn’t numb your mouth until you on your way home and tell you it’s your fucking fault you got a bad tooth anyway and that’s after they make you go and pay their hygienist to clean your teeth and she tells you off an all. Can you imagine anybody else getting away with that? You go out to buy a new tele, hand over the money and the salesman tells you, it’s your fucking fault you needed to buy a new tele if you’d looked after your old one better, you needn’t have bothered him, I don’t think so. Dentists I’m warning you, when the revolution comes, you’re high up on the list. Not as high up as opticians though, what the fucks that all about. Two for the price of one, so you find the cheapest in the shop, they’re the ones hidden in a draw that only get brought out to stop you leaving the shop. £100 and you get a second pair free. O.K. how about I just take one pair for £50. Sorry no-can-do company policy sir. But how much are these £100 glasses fucking worth. £100 sir. So if I don’t take the extra pair, you save £100. You give me £100 glasses for £50 I give you £100 glasses for nothing. So I’m really giving you £150 for £100 per of glasses. So I’m happy and you can then sell on the extra pair of glasses for £50 to the next fucking skint comedian that comes in here and then, you’ve sold your two pairs of glasses for £100 and we’re all fucking happy. Sorry no-can –do, company policy sir. Bollocks. O.k. I guess that’s me done for tonight, thanks for listening to me whinging, enjoy the rest of the show and if I don’t see you again enjoy the rest of your lives. I’m Zen Warwickshire, thanks for your patience, cheers.” Doc jumped up on the stage, to get another round of applause for Zen. Back stage Betsy hugged him, “You did all right Zen, and you’re on the circuit now.” They sat back down and were joined by Doc he was pleased www.bibliotastic.com

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with Norman’s effort, informing him that as a venue manager he was invited with Betsy to watch the second half, from the V.I.P. area. After a quick handshake with the Micro-wave manager, they sat on their own awaiting the second half. Doc got the second part of the show on with some patter, telling the crowd he had once been sacked as a careers adviser for telling an attractive student she was, “ Sitting on a gold mine, ” which brought some boos. He then delved further into his fictional past to mention also being sacked as a swimming instructor. When a teenage girl asked, “Will I really sink if you pull your finger out?” The boos were now joined by some laughter and a few slow handclaps. Doc introduced the next act. Harry Shagman took to the stage. He looked like and sounded even more like the J.R.Ewing character. Norman and Betsy would study all the standups now, they whispered to each other the ongoing merits or failings of those on stage, including their own Doc. Harry was politically incorrect on the subject of ladies. He would try and appeal to the guys. Then using the old panto. “Oh no I didn’t, oh yes you did routine,” he would turn it all round and get away with sexist murder so to speak. His unisex parking spaces in America theory brought him a standing ovation from the males in the audience. Norman and Betsy continued to evaluate stand-up-comedy. “It’s money for old dopes,” quipped Betsy, “look at the state of this one.” Norman whispered, “ So you just observe what’s going on in the world, get up on stage dressed in your every –day clothes and take the piss out of the audience, for doing those things, even though you may well live the same sad life as them anyway, you still send them up. They cheer you on and you get paid and if you are really rude you may go on to have your own T.V. series; then be really nice and admit you do all the same sad things that most people do.” “You got it Norman,” agreed Betsy, “You see most of these stand-ups are just as fucking thick as the people they’re taking the piss out of. What you need to do, is take the piss out of this lot as well and you get even more free material. So observe Norman.” Betsy was proven right as stand-up after stand-up failed to really slaughter the audience. A Jeremy Clarkson look-a-like was doing well, “Modern Car names I ask you,” he shouted, “where do they the come from? There was a time when they stood for something, a statement. What do we get now, a Rover, sounds like a fucking dog. I think they would be better off just naming them after

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illnesses. Why not! You could have The Ford Hepatitis range, A, B and C; what about an Audi Tuberculosis.” Norman applauded but was more interested in the next performer Sheila Patterson. She claimed to be related to Les Patterson. Betsy was not a fan of Sheila’s. Her routine was to get the audience to imagine famous people having sex. Her Aussie style added much to amuse the audience as did her signature song, ‘Young, Gifted and Fat. Norman presumed Betsy envied her reception. Doc closed the show in person. “Do you watch these D.I.Y. fucking shows on the tele,” he asked, standing with a saw in one hand and a hammer in the other. “What a load of fucking bollocks they are. That Grand Designs, you see the state of those couples, oh my God. They’re so fucking worried about their living spaces. It always ends up the same, the only unsightly objects to be seen anywhere are the couple themselves. Bit of advice ladies, best thing to put behind your ears to attract a man, your ankles. Yeah think about. She’s got it. No not now dear. Sorry about that, see yeah, good luck.” The D.J. Ed Nolmans yet another act of Doc’s started up his Fiasco as he called it, with Benny Hill’s Ernie song. Doc joined Betsy and Norman. “This guy’s got so many funny ha-ha and funny peculiar records, cracks me up,” shouted Doc over the noise of Ernie’s milk-cart racing along. “Must get him on the books at the Two Buttocks when we re-open. Well tonight West London, tomorrow the World. Just Brighton really, but it will be a hoot, trust me I’m a compare.” Norman looked curiously, Betsy knowingly. “Didn’t we mention Brighton, young Norman? Shucks sorry ‘bout that,” said Doc, “pick you up in the morning, we’ll make a day of it. Talk to you later, people needs paying.” Norman spent the night at Betsy’s. Doc came hammering on the door at eight the next morning. He rushed into the apartment followed by his friendly Rastafarian cab-driver, “They really should feature this apartment on that T.V. programme. What’s it called? Oh yeah I remember Bland Designs.” Norman and Betsy were then persuaded to have breakfast on the train. Doc’s friendly cabbie dropped them off at Victoria Railway Station. By 9 o’clock their train to Brighton was pulling out of the station. Doc had grabbed very strong coffees for all and baguettes filled with his recommendations. “I don’t usually eat anchovies for breakfast,” complained Betsy. “It compliments the egg-mayo and toms,” replied Doc, “you must agree Norman, you’re a city boy.” Norman smiled as he winked at Betsy, who was busy picking the anchovies out of her baguette.

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Chapter Seven - The out of Towners

“So, cards on the table,” said Doc, “what routines are we all doing in Brighton then?” “My usual I guess my dearie,” answered Betsy. “Pass,” said Norman. Doc with a head in hands gesture spoke, “O.K. then I’ll go first; the Spin Doctor is going to slag off the commuters who live in Brighton. I suggest you two follow my lead, hence why we are here at this un-godly hour of a Sunday. Zen, Norman, think a little Zen. We are going to get a-tuned to Brighton. So when we get up on stage tonight we are as one with our environment and can really take the piss out of the audience. So whatever road you go down tonight, make sure it’s in Brighton. This gig, right: an old friend of mine; a retired basket ball player; Gay would you believe; a born again; the worst sort. Anyway he has bought a pub with B&B upstairs and we are here to give him an opening night. The local press will be propped up at the bar, which is good for us. We get free board and as much as we can drink. You two get sex, sea and more sex. Now look out of the window because soon coming up, the Sussex Downs.” From the train they saw a mangled wreck of a car by the roadside, “A monument to Lady Di!” exclaimed Betsy. They all went silent as the train carried them on and into Brighton. At the station Doc was like a cross between a child and a B.B.C. historian, dragging the others outside the station to point to where the sea was; then he dragged them back inside to admire the Victorian architecture. They strolled off towards the seafront. Doc now excited by the seagulls overhead, Betsy only impressed by all the drinking holes they were passing and Norman just pleased to be there. The nearer to the sea front they got the louder and more animated Doc became, “ Now that’s what I call a water feature, they filmed, ‘Oh what a lovely war,’ here you know,” he shouted and then loosing control pointing to the ground. “Right fucking here,” then he burst into full song and dance. “ Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war,” he sang much to the embarrassment of Betsy. She went off to hide in a Victorian promenade shelter. Norman stood and watched Doc, then applauded his brave performance. “Bravo, bravo,” Norman now shouted. As this was Brighton on a Sunday Doc drew a small crowd. Norman had surprised Doc entering into a bit of theatre with him. Betsy emerged from the shelter not really wanting to miss out on an audience. “Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war,” she sang. Doc joined in as www.bibliotastic.com

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Norman mimed filming them. The three now getting strange glances from new passers by burst into laughter and danced off. Doc pointed to a Regency square on the opposite side of the road. He led them up through the square and off into a narrow street to find his friend’s pub. Still in an excited animated state he announced, “One day I’m going to put on an Opera. Yes, in English and modern. About security guards working through the night in a factory. I will call it And Even The Kitchen Sink.” He started to sing and gesture at his companions, “What have you got in that bag. And that bag. I; must; search; them; now. ” Betsy and Norman looked at each other in disbelief of the moment “For fucks sake Doc, I think it’s time the men in white coats came to collect you,” responded Betsy just as they arrived at the closed door of a pub. Having failed to get any response there, Doc suggested a drink on the sea front and they went off in search of one. A restaurant with tables outside lured Betsy even in the February weather. They shared a bottle of Champagne and Norman’s cigarettes. A passing family seemed outraged by this sight, stepping into the road to distance themselves from such decadence. “A toast,” demanded Doc, “Sex in trees.” “Sex in trees Doc! Where did that come from? ” asked Betsy. “I was watching these two pigeons in a tree, from my bedroom window.” “Thank you Doc,” she cut him short. At Norman’s request they moved on to explore the whole of the area. Doc acted as tour guide. Betsy remained un-interested, she held onto Norman’s arm. They wandered round till hunger steered them into an old style pizza restaurant. “Best stick with the Champagne,” advised Doc, “it’s good for the figure. If I could afford it I would only drink this stuff.” His request for extra toppings to include tuna and dolphin had not gone down well with the young waitress; so straight after their blow out, Doc guided them back to the pub. This time it was open and Doc’s friend Moses a six foot tall Black American was delighted to greet them. He showed them to a room on the first floor, with two double bunks; they thanked Moses and dived onto separate beds. It was totally dark when Doc stirred, he woke the other two. Having found the light switch and blinding everyone with it, he announced, “Good morning Brighton,” then confirming in fact it was six p.m. One after another they freshened up in the bathroom along the hallway.

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By six thirty they were sat round a table in the bar, with Moses. “We don’t open till eight,” he said, “I don’t serve till then, usually, but as you three look like shit.” “Cheers,” responded Doc, “Just a bottle of Champers and three glasses will be fine.” “I’ll go and put the kettle on,” said Moses, chuckling to himself as he walked off. With strong coffee now on the table, cigarettes were passed around. The group were hardly visible through the haze of smoke to staff and helpers as they turned up for the opening night. It dawned on Norman that perhaps they were the only stand-ups that night and the coffee was a good idea after all. Doc and Moses ran through the night’s format. Doc would host the whole event. Norman and Betsy would be introduced as main attractions on the London comedy scene and therefore would only be expected to do short routines. After coffee, Norman and Betsy went out for a walk down to the seafront. It was a clear night, the tourist lights were on. They gazed and listened to the waves crashing. Norman phoned Doc to check what time they were needed back. “Not till ten,” said Doc, “but don’t get too pissed my lovelies.” They wandered arm in arm the length of the sea front and back in silence. Near to the gig they took warm shelter in a hotel bar. “This is very posh Norman,” said Betsy, “are you trying to impress me?” “No.” “Why not.” “Need to impress that lot in the pub, not you, right now.” “Fair point Norman.” “Zen!” “What!” “Zen, tonight Betsy I’m going to be Zen Warwickshire.” “So, what are you going to do tonight Zen?” “Pass.” “Really.” “Yeah, I’ll bluff it out.” “So is that Zen.”

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“Not really, but I am. Did Doc really make it big? ” “Maybe.” “Will you really make it big?” “Let’s go and find out.” They ambled back to the pub. It was so cold on the sea front they hurried up through the square and off into the side streets. There it was, shelter, as they opened the door the heat burnt their faces up. The pub was packed with people generating warmth. It was another World. It was still early, Norman led Betsy through the crowded bar. He tapped Doc on the shoulder and shouted into his ear, “Call us when you need us, we need a power- nap.” The pair continued on upstairs. Doc gave them a shout at ten. He met them on the stairs. “There is no backstage area here,” he explained, “if you don’t mind just being in the pub, I will introduce you and call you up. You will be on first Norman. ” They followed him down and through into the pub, which was now full to capacity and people still arriving. Moses was behind the bar serving, he offered them priority, which they took. Doc stood up on a small round platform in the far corner of the bar. He pulled the microphone from its stand, “Order, order, order please, order, order, oh come on order please. Order in this public house please,” he said, “as the speaker in this public house, I must ask for, order, order please. Thank you.” Silence fell. “Thank you, welcome, welcome, welcome. Tonight is a grand re-opening of the pub known to many of you as the Hope Tavern. However it shall, now be known forever as, ‘The Pub,’ I ask you, raise your glasses, ‘The Pub.’ Onto other matters, Moses has spared every expense tonight. We have buy two, pay for three deal at the bar, two guest speakers from London and the grand-ma-draw. The draw will take place at mid-night. Your invitation cards tonight once handed in have all been placed in a large black bin-bag. Oh sorry, Moses, what’s that, oh sorry folks a large grey bin-liner. Is that cause they’re cheaper Moses or some political correctness issue. Oh I see, they are more environmentally friendly, grey bin-liners, oh really, glad you told me that and of course it matches the colour of you hair. O.k. your invitations will all be placed in a large grey bin-liner. Then at mid-night, still O.K. with midnight are we Moses? Good.” Moses nodded from behind the bar. Doc continued, “So, midnight our two glamour girls, well when I say glamour girls, two local students with huge tits will make the draw. They will after handling in a sensual fashion the grey bin-liner, remove all but the bottom one in the grey bag and that one will be our winner. Normally in a draw the first to be drawn would be the winner, however tonight, the last out will be www.bibliotastic.com

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our winner, therefore someone who would usually be a loser in life, will tonight be a winner. The one and only prize is a night out with Moses Grandma, she has just flown in from Long Island in the U.S.A. and has still got her own teeth and if she asks, Moses isn’t actually a homosexual. He just helps out when their busy. ” Norman laughed loudly and applauded along with the crowd; he admired Doc’s skill this night. “Let’s move on then,” shouted Doc over the fading laughter he had created. “On such an evening I will ask no other than Zen Warwickshire to say a few words to you all, Zen if you would be so kind; thank you.” Norman made his way over to take the microphone off Doc they swapped places on the rostrum. “Oh, I got a huge hard on,” announced Norman, “Must be the sea air.” He grabbed his crotch. “I must come down here more often, Brighton, I mean. Talking of which, it’s fucking February again. Having had to go into deep debt to prove our love over Xmas and New Year, we men have to do it all over again. Valentine’s Night, what a load of bollocks and you know, it’s the thing that scares me most about getting old, true, cause it’s worse for the oldies. Buying the card, you see them in the shop and it doesn’t matter how they play it they’re only going to get fucked at the check out. The envelope can’t be found or the price stickers fallen off and the poor old fucker’s stood there with the female assistants who must be thinking, who the fuck’s this balding old fart buying this card for anyway. They treat you worse than if you’re buying porn, at least then they’re scared of you. Then it’s, ‘Kylie, how much is this tonight’s the night Valentine’s card.’ ‘I don’t know Cher, asont it got a bah code.’ People in the shop are looking now, trying to draw a mental picture of this poor fucker making it tonight’s the night for anyone. If he is then there will be many more embarrassing moments for him before the 14th. Feb. is over. Then there’s the present and no, a new vacuum will not do unless perhaps it has a vibrator attachment. Probably not though as the 14th is national erection day, no cheating gentlemen please. We are now talking, the task to end all tasks. They didn’t even have to do this in the Lord Of The Rings for Christ’s sake. Oh yes it’s the visit to the Sexy under-wear shop. How the fuck baldies deal with that one is beyond me. It’s bad enough when you’re young. James Bond, only he could get away this. The rest of us forget it. For most of these couples it’s lights off sex anyway, why throw money at it. I’ll leave you all, with one Valentine’s thought. This is a true story. I’m in a large newsagents shop just last year, going through the cards. I notice this one, cause on the front it says. ‘We all know that diamonds are a girls best friend, but,’ I just have to know what the but is. I open up the card and it says, ‘A big stiff cock comes a very close second.’ And there you have it. So don’t forget chaps. Thank you thank you.

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As you have been a wonderful audience tonight I will reward you by saying enough’s enough. So it’s Good night from me Zen Warwickshire.” Norman handed back the microphone to Doc before going off to join Betsy in with the crowd. Doc reminded the audience that, “An Englishman’s Cock is his Castle,” by way of continuing the Valentine’s theme. “Talking about traditions, Hunting, I said Hunting dear heart, well I would hardly mention the other in a bar in Brighton would I? No, what is a private members bill? I’ve heard of a Private Bill’s member. So why the hell do you lot in the great no-where want to hunt any way? Can’t you go to the Supermarket like the rest of us? And you got the fucking ocean down the road. Horses and dogs can swim you know. Fox, fish, what’s the big deal? And the chance of encountering a hungry shark would liven the hunt up. Even Vegetarians could join in. Look, if you really want to piss off T.B. why not wait till his next party con down here. Then give it some, Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war. Right outside; the press would love it. You’d be on the TV. live. Probably upset the Actors Unions though. Well enough of politics, now here’s something that really should have been made illegal, Abba-music. If any of you suffer from good musical taste, please cover your ears. Doc joined Norman and Betsy in the crowd, Moses was excited with the way his evening was going and provided the three with another round of free drinks. Doc shouted in Norman’s ear, “Not bad mate for first up, you’ll do.” Betsy slipped away back upstairs to compose herself for her turn. Doc and Norman drank together as they were joined by a succession of locals. Moses kept the free drinks coming, so Norman guessed there would be no wages. “Only the wages of sin for you today Zen,” shouted Doc, “free booze, fags and Nancy in a bunk up stairs, what more could you want.” Just after 11 o’clock, Doc sent Norman up to call Betsy as he jumped up on the rostrum. He would introduce Betsy after he ran out of material. Norman propped himself up at the bar to watch the master at work. “Evening all, sorry I’m a bit late, a bit of a rush today, spent ages doing my hair and forgot to put it on. I see you still got Ben Hur on at the Regal. Heard a couple of Gays talking as they came out, of the cinema I mean. One says, did you like the film? The other replied, loved Him, hated Hur.” Doc moved on, “What the fuck do you lot find to do in Brighton anyway?” Next a comment about the tradesmen’s’ entrance and Oral B toothbrushes into watching reality T.V. and his ideas for some new ones. Having got a few boos with, ‘Blind Date Rape,’ he nearly brought the ceiling down with, ‘Who’s Turd Is It Anyway,’ ‘Celebrity Gang Bang,’ ‘Jail Bait,’ ‘Fart Wars,’ ‘Hunt the Hard On’ and ‘Back To The Gutter,’ all

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delivered with some fine graphic examples that only his sick mind was capable of. “American Idol that’s the pits, I keep thinking that Randy Jackson is going to jump- up and say,” ‘Yo’ll I dig it dog, yeah man I mean you gave me a big hard on.’ “The tele is getting bad though, worse than us lot really. This’ll be the next thing, good evening, here is the news. Tonight’s news contains swearing and scenes of extreme graphic violence, sex and sport. Mark my words; The End Is Nigh.” Norman was concerned that Betsy would not be able to follow this; he need not of worried Doc slowed it all down. Next he made up a story of bringing his dog Foreskin down with him from London. Having lost his Foreskin and wandered the streets calling it, he goes to the Brighton police station to report his loss. The kind desk sergeant allows him to go for tea in the police canteen, whilst there he over-hears two policemen chatting. “Are you still going out with that Mary?” “No, she packed me in.” “Why? You two seemed so suited.” “Something I said about Catholics.” “Didn’t you know she was a Catholic?” “Yes, but I didn’t know the Pope was.” “Yeah really, that’s what you pay your fucking taxes for.” Screamed Doc, “here we go, here we go, here we go,” sang Doc in football style. “When I first discovered Betsy Norfolk she was a third rate porn star. She offered me sex. I said, sorry I’ve only got a tenner, she said that’s all right I’ve got change. Now she’s a third rate comedienne, please give a warm Brighton welcome to Betsy Norfolk.” Betsy jumped up on the rostrum; she took the microphone off Doc. “I see you lot will laugh at anything,” said Betsy to the crowd in mocking tone, “So I should be a big friggin great hit. I’m not funny either. She rubbed her chest with the palm of her hand. “Oh that’s nice I’ll save that for later. It’s not true though what Doc said about me, it was a Fiver he’s a friggin cheap-skate, that Doc. Families aye, my Mother’s still suffering Post Natal Depression, can’t think why! I overheard my young nephew talking to his friend. Five they are. “I found a condom in the conservatory.” “What’s a conservatory?”

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“Friggin schools,” she shouted, “of course children should be taught about conservatories. Teachers they are a strange race. An ethnic minority group for sure. All part-time, bags of friggin dosh and they still dress badly, buy weird cars and download porn in their spare time, of which they have loads. They retire early and carry on supply teaching earn even more dosh and still dress badly buy mobility cars and eventually get caught, downloading porn. I love porn films. Wish they just showed them on general release. It makes sense, let’s really legalise fucking sex, pardon the pun. Cinemas these days are just for fucking kids, not literally of course. You see all these adults filing into watch Harry Potter, why? It is so sad. Today’s man spends his days off pretending to enjoy retail parks with the wife. Then it’s Harry Potter with the kids. He would prefer, the morning in bed, a porno film in the afternoon, a few beers and blowjob off the baby sitter. So he gets frustrated and the years roll by and he gets angry. You know that angry, that you want to go out and murder a prostitute. But it’s not your fault, it’s Ikea, Harry Potter and the baby sitter for wearing a mini skirt and then there’s that film American Beauty that got you thinking in the first place that there really should be more to life. Then the kids wake you up, cause you’re embarrassing them snoring and it was just a bad dream and you’re sitting there in the friggin cinema filled with children watching Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling is the richest women in the world has got some more of your money and every one lives happily ever after. Give me, loneliness any day. I like sex though; I just think it’s overpriced. I generally wait for the sales. I was brought up in the countryside, you can tell from my rather cute accent. Some men find it a turn on, especially when I shout out, ‘Oh master give me a good seeing to, just like you did that sheep last night.’ Used to make me very horny the countryside. Never mind village bicycle, they used to call me the village tandem; yes darling you got it did you, so did I, good an proper. Even walking home from school, I’d pass a field where the horses were at it, what a sight that is. I’d be gagging for it by the time I got indoors. Fortunately I was the only girl in the family. We were a poor and yet miserable family; I used to have to stuff my brothers socks down inside my bra for the local dances, they used to smell a bit though, still that’s country life. You know what’s long, thin, covered in skin, red in parts and goes in tarts; rhubarb.” Doc and Norman were mortified, Betsy had topped the pair of them and it was serious stuff. She continued, “Well my throat’s a bit horse, no pun intended. So I guess it’s time to remind you all if you’re drunk, do drive it’s a lot easier than walking, well, cause you’re sitting down, it’s obvious aint it. If you run down a bus queue, they only take away your license. Best not to take a test in the first place, then they can’t even do that. ‘The Law is an

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ass’ and then some. Good night good people of Brighton may your Pier burn brightly for ever.” Doc was overwhelmed by the applause for Betsy as he took the microphone off her to close up the show. “Betsy was only joking folks about the drinking and driving, you get fined as well,” he quipped. We have had a great night here. When I first walked in tonight and saw all the anoraks hanging up, I thought oh fuck, those National Trust jokes will have to go. So I will leave you with this one question, where was Moses when the lights went out? In the fucking dark of course. Good luck Moses, you’ll need it with these thick bastards. Good night Brighton.” Moses laughed and led the applause as Doc squeezed himself Betsy and Norman on the rostrum to lead the singing of Land Of Hope And Glory. Moses knew he had had himself one good opening night. The three hid upstairs to allow Moses to clear the bar within his licensed time. They returned for a late drink with the staff, local press and a few invited. The press were seeing Doc Betsy and Norman as a team. Doc found this an interesting concept and it started him thinking about their future; he set off in need of the toilet and sneaked off to spend the night at a 5 star Hotel as his payment for providing the night’s entertainment. Moses was on a mission and kept the drinks flowing. He announced that the table now covered in dirty glasses, over-flowing ashtrays and awash with spilt drinks and fag-ash, could be an entry for the Turner Prize. One of the local press photographed it. Betsy then suggested he go with her and Norman to the seafront and do a photo-shoot. All very pissed, they set off. The local police passed them by as they fooled around; only the flashing camera saved their arrest. The cold forced them to retreat to back to The Pub. Betsy and Norman left the others now playing drinking games as they crept off to their room for the few hours left of the night, far too drunk to attempt sex, or notice that Doc was missing; they slept in separate bunks. It was mid-day, it was Monday, and it was hangovers all round. Doc had climbed up a drainpipe to wake Betsy and Norman. There was no other way in to The Pub. Moses was still in a coma. Norman heard Doc at the window and let him in. “God it’s like the walking fucking dead round here,” Said Doc, “come on we need to get back to Town. Remind me to show you two, ‘The Days of Wine and Roses,’ sometime. Now Norman fuck some life into Betsy, I’m going downstairs to get the coffee on the go. See you soon.” Norman slowly woke up Betsy, got them both washed and downstairs before the coffee was cold. The three demolished two pots in silence, left a scribble goodbye note for Moses then secured the bar door behind them as they headed off in the general direction of London, via Brighton Railway

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Station. After even more and stronger coffee on the platform they slumped into their train seats and back to sleep. Doc announced, “There are only two places in England you know, in London and out of London.” He was in better condition than the others so he only closed his eyes and remained busy making plans. The others started to regain consciousness as the train jerked to a halt at Victoria. Doc assisted them onto the platform and into the nearest coffee shop, then into a black cab. His plan was, they go to Betsy’s and from there he would go on home in a mini-cab. However having paid off their taxi, Betsy suggested they all eat at her local Italian. Doc remembered his last meal there had been rather a farce, but he was hungry. The three ordered a modest amount of food, a hair of the dog and soon had the giggles as they topped up their alcohol levels. Doc tapped their table with his knuckles, “A toast,” he proposed, “the 2nd of February, the Two Buttocks and us.” The colour was now returning to the faces of Betsy and Norman. Doc told them that Brighton had been very special for him. He thought if they worked together as a team and with a little more Zen, success was there for the taking. “I’ll drink to that,” said Betsy. “Me too,” added Norman. After a rather sober late lunch the three agreed, rest was the priority. Doc settled the bill and gave the waiter a tip, ‘Ugly women are best cause they’re grateful for it.’ He then ordered a minicab and left his close friends. Betsy suggested to Norman a walk along the riverside followed by some sleep at her place. Darkness fell over the Thames as they strolled the long way back to Betsy’s apartment. The central heating welcomed them. Betsy turned to Norman as he closed the door, “I really want you to move in here with me Zen Warwickshire,” she announced nervously. Norman bowed his head as he took her in his arms and answered, “I do.” They showered together and then slept together. Next morning with February upon him Doc changed up a gear, knocking at Betsy’s door first-thing. He was the boss, which suited the other two, “O.K. let’s get going,” he shouted as Norman answered the door. “Who is it Norman enquired Betsy from under her duvet?” “It’s the Fucking Police, with a Fucking Ticket.” “Piss off,” she replied. “What’s with you two,” Doc butted in. “Just a private joke dear,” Betsy was now red-faced.

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“We got a venue to get re-open on Valentine’s Day, or did we forget? And you two are now officially working with me for Spin Doctor Comedy Consultants, as well as your duties for Paddy.” On hearing the news of Norman moving in with Betsy, Doc replied, “It’ll at least give you both some ideas for new material, great. But Betsy it’s not quite what I meant by a little more Zen.” They headed off by bus to the Two Buttocks. Doc reminding them to keep the ex’s down now. They put in a long hard first day back at work. Norman left the others at 5 o’clock to meet his Aunt Katie from work. She was pleased to see him they walked home together as he explained he was off to stay with Betsy, Ernest greeted them at the door, he was off work sick. “Baby that’s what he is Norman,” joked Katie. Norman broke his news to Ernest over a cup of tea. The three of them were still close but all agreed ontrolled him. He was a bitter man nest pretended to help Norman down the Ernest pretended to help Norman down the narrow staircase with his suitcase. They all agreed to meet up for a drink at the Prince before the week was out. The sight of Norman, pulling his huge suitcase on wheels through the doors of the Two Buttocks was too funny for Doc, “Fucking hell Norman,” he screamed. “I thought you were a comedian, not a magician. We could be onto something new here,” he laughed, “how you going to get that over to Betsy’s? I don’t think it will fit in a taxi.” “Rise above it Zen,” Shouted Betsy from a distance. “I like a man with big luggage.” They all laughed. Doc was noticing the real comedy magic that was developing between them and needed to harness it. He had declared the week should be, ‘Sober-ish.’ They worked through till 10 o’clock allowing themselves only one drink. Doc had ordered a black cab for the three of them and the suitcase. He got out at the tube station. “Well here we are,” said Betsy, “Joking apart; I do admire you having all your gear in one suit case Norman even if it is not the biggest,” she started to laugh, “Suitcase I have ever seen. No really, people take more stuff than that on holiday, so I’ve heard.” “I am on holiday,” he replied. “Well it’s not a free one matey, I’ll have that fuck tonight that I would have had this morning, if Doc hadn’t wet his bed and disturbed us.” “Shall I unpack then?” “Sure, I’ll put pizzas in the oven.” Norman unpacked, they showered, ate, watched tele on the big screen and Betsy got her fuck. www.bibliotastic.com

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Doc woke them by phone the next morning and from then on he was considerate and allowed them their privacy. For the rest of the week they all met up at the venue. Doc was involved in all sorts and their days were busy. They worked till late on the Saturday. Norman took Betsy along for a drink with Ernest and Katie at the Prince. Doc declined the, ‘It’s a Family Affair,’ as he referred to it. The drink went well, leaving Norman feeling good about life. The following week, was even busier, auditions added to the workload. Valentine’s night would fall on the Saturday. Doc had not named the standups for the big night. The press deadline for adverts was Wednesday 9am. Betsy would E-mail the details through. She and Norman sat beside the computer in the venue office. Just minutes before nine Doc wandered in, he sat down. “Please take down the following Miss. Norfolk,” he said. “Headlining, probably the funniest woman in the East End at the moment, Betsy (shall I get my tits out) Norfolk. Introducing, a bloke from the Midlands, Zen Warwickshire. With full supporting cast and of course all this and more under the strict supervision of The Spin Doctor.” Betsy typed the E-mail, “This P.C. has Windows Extinguisher soft-ware Doc it’s fucking chronic; right that’s sent now so I hope it wasn’t a wind up dear.” She and Norman awaited an explanation. “Wind up, why?” asked Doc, “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought since Brighton and it feels right.” “Seems like a good idea to me,” added Norman. “O.K. all agreed then, so let’s just get on with it,” suggested Doc getting up and heading off to purchase their take away breakfast rolls. Norman and Betsy somewhat stunned shared a cigarette, their attempt to cut down. Doc soon returned with the food. He had no interest in further discussions right then; so another hard day got going followed by another and another and then it was Valentine’s Day. Doc had dropped into their conversations throughout the week that he expected his two partners to produce their goods on the night. They saw nothing of Paddy before the re-opening. His wife was now clinging onto life, he trusted Norman. The Two Buttocks was ready for Valentine’s night, by mid-day. The three locked up and went off to their homes to prepare themselves. Doc said he would walk for a couple of hours on Hampstead Heath, then take tea in the village to relax. Betsy and Norman were soon lazing in their now shared apartment. They had about six hours before they would return to work. Betsy went off to shower and do her hair. Norman sunk further into an easy chair. After some

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time referring to Nigel’s book he meditated for a couple of hours till Betsy returned to disturb him. “Pizza darling,” she asked. He nodded, and then returned to his deep thoughts. Betsy prepared all for their meal of the day, just calling Norman when it was ready. He jumped up, “I’m ready for this and for that he shouted,” slapping his face in his hands. He hugged and danced Betsy round the room. Pulled out the chair, seated her at the table and poured them wine. “We just up it, from Brighton really,” said Norman, “we were all good enough there.” “That easy then!” “Yep, why not. Doc is right, we work well together, that could set us above the rest and we are in charge of a fucking comedy venue. If we can’t crack it, then who can? ” “Yeah I’ll drink to that. The press will be in tonight, let’s do it right.” “If we believe in ourselves and each other we will do it right,” concluded Norman. After eating they left the table in a total mess and went to bed. Betsy fucked Norman then fell into a deep sleep. He remained in a deep thought mode only interrupted by moments of total blankness. Having disturbed Betsy before heading off to the shower he found on his return, she was now rushing round on a domestic mission. “I can’t come home to this mess later,” she said in an apologetic tone. “I could, it’s easy,” he mumbled. The apartment bell rang at 6 o’clock, “Taxi,” said the voice on the intercom. “Let’s go do it,” said Norman taking the nervous Betsy by the hand. It was he who had to lock the door of the apartment behind them. Doc was stood outside the Two Buttocks when the taxi drew up. “Here’s the old married couple then,” he shouted, “been digging the garden have we?” The three embraced. Norman unlocked the pub the others followed him inside. Over the next couple of hours staff drifted in, including Lottery Lenny moaning how skint he was. Before the doors were opened customers could be heard meeting up outside the venue. Doc had booked D.J. Ed Nolmans Fiasco. However the public were let into the music of Dr. Hook, the only romantic music Doc could stand. It was Norman in fact that the crowd swarmed over. Few of them realised he was in fact now Zen Warwickshire they shook his hand as they wished him a

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belated happy new year. He was still best known as Norman the doorman the friendly giant with no hidden agenda or so they had thought. The Two Buttocks was packed within an hour of opening. Lottery Lenny was turning people away and trying to convince them to visit the Prince; “You should try their Cats Piss,” he was heard suggesting to all those he had to disappoint.

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Chapter Eight - Valentine’s Day Fiasco

At 10 o’clock Doc jumped upon the new stage, “Hello good evening and welcome,” he mumbled, “its time to rumble, well not quite. Tonight apart from being the grand re-opening of the Two Buttocks, it is of course, Valentine’s Night. On a very sad note, we will remember Nancy. Known to many of you as our manager, she was tragically killed on Boxing Day and tonight here is dedicated to her memory. She lived life to the full, so tonight will we. Thank you.” The crowd applauded. “Thank you, I checked the stats, you know very few babies are conceived on Valentine’s Day. I don’t know what we should read into that, but as a stand-up comedian I better read something pretty fucking quickly into it. Oh yeah, perhaps it’s the cold, reducing the speed of the flow of body fluids, it’s a thought. Bit too technical for you lot I guess. Any Doctors in? Yep there’s one, no two, what three! Hospital closed tonight is it? Maybe it’s the planning of it, all the ladies remembering to take their pill. Tonight’s the big one. Every one armed with their condoms, tooled up you could say. I’ve got one, no you’re all right I got one here. Oh do try one of mine. Do you think only the oldies go for it anyway, out of conceive by dates? Talking of which, any of you old dogs here pregnant now? Oh there’s always one, or two! Yeah, good. How you like your eggs in the morning girls, fertilized? I find it let’s say interesting. Society never seems to fully make the connection between getting pregnant and getting laid, you know the sex word is taboo. Recently I was visiting my parents. My sister turns up with husband. They sit on the sofa. She announces the patter of little feat are on the way. My father gets out the sherry and Mum provides a few tears. It is a moment of pure innocent happiness, or is it? Cause what my sister is really saying is, he’s been fucking me. Can you imagine what reaction that sentence would have got, you could forget the fucking sherry anyway. We would have got the tears I guess though. So following the good news I’m sitting there thinking wicked thoughts, I can’t help it. Cause those little innocent questions pop up at these times, like, was it planned? How long have you been trying. This is polite sexual innuendo. Was it planned, what does that mean? Did you lie down dear with your legs open? No it wasn’t planned, just seemed like a good idea at the time. There wasn’t much on the telly. Or yes we’ve been trying for ages; we have been fucking each other silly every night for a year. Well no, we didn’t have to try for long, it was all over in a few minutes. www.bibliotastic.com

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Then we have to drink a toast to the baby, why not sex, well that’s what it is really, but we as a family have never mentioned sex, now we are toasting it. I ask you. So you two ladies out there, we know what you’ve been doing, ‘Making the Beast with Two Backs,’ perhaps. Enjoy tonight and enjoy making babies, later mate, core look he’s all over that one, bet she’s not your wife. Go and buy her another drink mate, yes the bar’s over there and mingle, mingle, that’s better and relax dear it’s just a commercial.” Doc walked backwards off the stage. The D.J. played I’m An Urban Spaceman, the crowd were now well humoured and the bar was busy. Doc gathered up Betsy and Norman and ushered them through to the back office. “We got some serious press critics in tonight,” he said, “don’t get nervous, play to them and give it everything. Let the audience play its part too. Milk them. Let’s get out of here I’m thirsty.” Back in the bar, the three relaxed as they watched the crowd enjoying the evening. ‘Soma, for the masses,’ quipped Doc, this comment was lost on the other two. Doc knew there were several generation gaps between the three, but that should help them. Between swigs of his lager he jumped up on the stage and introduced his old fashioned juggling act. He loved stuff like that, so did this audience. He returned to Norman’s side to boost his confidence, he was up next and Doc needed him to be faultless. The night was going like a train. Betsy had creped off to the office. She knew that pacing her drink was essential. Doc was an old hand at the booze and Norman the gentle giant could hold his too. Midnight soon came round. The D.J. not Doc introduced Norman. The theme 2001 A Space Odyssey blasted out; Doc pushed Norman towards the stage as the extreme volume of the music vibrated the customers’ drinks on the new bar tables. Norman stood on the stage; the music stopped dead; smoke had been released; it covered his legs. A single white spot-light circled him; there was silence followed by a mixed response, a few murmured, ‘That’s Norman the doorman.” “Grasshopper,” whispered Norman, “we must not always presume that all things stay the same, for if we do, they will. Now fuck off you little brat.” The crowd liked Zen straight off and showed it. “I know it’s Valentine’s Night but, let’s have a good moan anyway. I don’t know why they call us stand up comedians, we should be called stand up moaners really. It’s all we do, professional fucking moaners. My Dad back in the Midlands, well adopted Dad really, but I don’t want to talk about it. The pain, the shame, all right in a minute. Any way he used to say my Mother, that’s my adopted Mother, but I don’t want to talk about it.” The

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crowed begged to hear the story. “ All right in a minute, can I get on with this, my adopted Dad, oh fuck I forgot what I was going say then. Moaning, I do like a good old moan. Council Tax, why do they call it Council Tax, most of it goes to the fucking Police. They should call it fucking protection money, bit controversial?” he asked the audience. “ Celebrity chefs, who thought that one up? Celebrity chefs I guess. Most trades have celebrities on the tele now you know. Not the ones I would like to see though. Titty Gardener, Jordan! Celebrity gynaecologist, Peter Stringfellow! Just a thought. Celebrity postman, there’s a good one; mind you there was Postman Pat. Celebrity hospital porter, no, we had Jimmy Saville. I guess they’ve all been done any way. I hate sport on the tele. If I wanted to see sport I would go out and see it live. Cricket you’d need a panoramic screen to watch that on the fucking tele. Rugby last year, you all latched onto that one. We all became rugby fans then for a couple of hours, well it wasn’t that hard was it, propping yourself up in front of a big screen with a beer and a fag, just a normal night out, except England won of course and we didn’t have to support them year in and year out, we just had to turn out once at the local pub and revel in the glory, fucking handsome, boys, thanks. That reminds me, my Dad used to say my Mother could have moaned for England, new it was something to do with sport. It is all right being adopted, well you did ask. At least you don’t have to feel guilty about not liking your parents, any of the fuckers and it gives you an excuse for having a chip on your shoulder, or a French fry I guess it would be these days. If things don’t work out financially, you can always claim you were abused, better than your lottery odds that old chestnut. Friend of mines a solicitor reckons we aint seen nothing yet, bbbbabee, yeah really, she was over in the States, managed to drag herself away from my weapon of mass satisfaction for a while, I might add, well it is Valentine’s night and who said romance is dead. Shut up you’re putting me off again. Anyway she told me, the day would come when you can sue for everything, anything at all. Breach of marital contract, not getting a good shagging when you need one, or even when you don’t. Can you imagine, you go off to bed, your partner suggests sex, oh, and you say I’m a bit too tired really, working very hard on that overseas deal. So it’s snore, snore. Next morning off you go to work, couple of hours later some fucker walks up to your desk and slaps a writ in your hand. Now if you’d of slapped something in her hand last night, would have saved you loads of fucking money. At work you can sue the bollocks off your bosses, it’s great. Power to the people aye, at last and you don’t even need to join one of those fucking www.bibliotastic.com

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Unions, right brothers. Girls, you just let your tits hang out eat a banana slowly for lunch, tongue it, suck it, then swallow, right in front of your boss. The moment he makes his move bang, you got the bastard. Should pay for your first house. I think workers rights are going to far though. Stress is the real ‘Big Issue’ now and I’m not talking about that fucking magazine that seems to rise up at you on the end of this filthy hand as you’re walking down the street; sorry about that. Anyway stress, workers go to work to work, all work is fucking stressful, stress is now an illness, so soon, no-one has to work anymore, I’ll drink to that. How about working for al-Qaeda, now that would be stressful. I shouldn’t think they’d be Investors in People some-how. Well enough of this gay banter, oh sorry I meant happy chatter, no solicitors in tonight I trust. No, good, fuck-‘em, when I was going out with my solicitor, I used to fuck her, till it even hurt me! Come on who wouldn’t like to fuck a solicitor? just like they fuck us every chance they get. Any Irish in? Lovely people, really. You know why they called their currency the Punt?” Silence fell, “Because it rhymes with Bank Manager. “Scottish people, any, yep always one or two they get everywhere those Scottish boat people. I once asked a Scottish musician friend of mine what he thought about Rod Stewart. Well Zen he said, when you listen to Rod Stewart it reminds you of Al Green, but when you listen to Al Green it doesn’t fucking remind you of Rod. Stewart. Boom Boom. Sorry Rod but that is a true story. Publicans, they’re an odd race, my mate’s Dad was one, when he retired he bought a boat, called it cirrhosis of the river. Medical joke there, for the locals.” Norman was struggling with his performance. Suddenly as if by fait he looked out over the audience, as if for inspiration. He saw Paddy, just standing there looking lost too, out of place and in a state of panic. Lottery Lenny had his hand on Paddy’s shoulder and his eyes fixed on Norman. He did manage to signal to Norman that there was a problem. Norman ripped off his jacket like he was a pop star and threw it to the crowd. “Thank you, thank you, England, you’ve been a great audience, God bless you, I love you all, look me up when you’re next in the States,” he screamed. Doc was horrified as he watched Norman leap off the stage. He had not yet noticed Paddy’s presence. The stage lights had gone off allowing Norman to move quickly and un-noticed over to Paddy. Lenny greeted him whispering into his ear: “His wife has just died; he’s come straight here, she’s dead in the flat. No one else knows yet, fuck! What are we going to do Norman?” Paddy looked up, he needed help. Doc could only watch from the other side of the pub as Norman led him outside. “We should go to your flat and call the Doctor now,” said Norman in a gentle tone. Paddy led the way it was just a short walk, he was focused now. www.bibliotastic.com

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Soon they entered the flat on the third floor; the view of the floodlit McNaughton’s Brewery from the lounge window took Norman by surprise. He stood gazing at his first place of work in London. His mind was spilling over with all that had happened since he knocked on Ernest and Katie’s front door in the summer. He realised Paddy needed him. This was the first time in his life Norman had taken on any responsibility. An open door revealed a bed, he entered the room were laid Maureen; she was dead. Norman froze only just managing to turn his gaze back at Paddy. After a couple of minutes his senses returned, “The number, for the Doctor, Paddy I need it now,” he said without emotion. “It’s by the phone,” replied Paddy, now seated in the next room beside the phone. A couple more minutes passed before Norman was able to get his legs to walk him back into the lounge. The phone number was written on a cigarette pack; it was the Doctor’s mobile. “The Doctor is on his way Paddy,” Norman mumbled now in a state of shock. Fortunately the pair had not closed the front door; this allowed the Doctor to enter through to find Norman and Paddy seated in a cigarette smoke filled room and then Maureen’s dead body. Seeing the vague look on Paddy’s face, the Doctor addressed Norman, “Marty Crown, Doctor and old friend, you are?” “Norman Smith,” he answered, “I manage the pub for Paddy.” “Yes, he has talked of you, I of course know your Uncle and Auntie very well and I am their Doctor also. Do they know about Maureen?” “No,” replied Norman. “I will tell them, my boy. There is a plan for tonight. The undertaker will be here any minute, another friend. He will look after Maureen; Paddy will stay at our house till some time after the funeral. Here is my card, you will be contacted very soon, go now this is no place for a young man and thank you. ” Norman could see Paddy had shut himself off from reality, so he just touched both of his shoulders on the way out of the flat. Back out on the streets of East London Norman lit up a cigarette. Still without his jacket he walked back to the Two Buttocks on autopilot. Entering the front doors he bumped into Lenny. Are you alright?” asked the doorman. “You’re as white as a fucking sheet man.” “Please don’t ask me if I have just seen a ghost you fucking brain donor, or you’ll be wearing that exit sign. Where’s my jacket? It’s below freezing outside.”

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“Yeah, sorry I wasn’t thinking big man, how was it? What happened? Sorry, I’ll find your jacket.” “And get me: a large; double southern comfort; no fucking ice; now; in fact several in a pint glass.” Lenny shot off towards the bar; Norman leaned on the back wall. ‘After all he was the boss and entitled to be a prick sometimes, thought Lenny as he ordered up his drink.’ Betsy was on stage. The audience were having a great time. Doc noticed Norman and waded over through the sea of bodies and booze towards him. He saw tears swelling in his friend’s eyes and hugged him. Betsy saw this as she was being begged for an encore, realising Norman needed her, she did it at last, “If I get my tits out can I go?” “Yes,” the crowd bellowed. She did it, pulling up her top and turning 360 degrees before leaping off the stage. In the darkened venue she raced over to Norman; taking his shaking body from Doc she walked him outside, hailed a passing taxi and pushed him in. They cuddled as he wept on the short journey to her apartment. “He’s not going to be any trouble is he?” asked the driver. “Not for you,” replied Betsy. The cab stopped. “Here we are then darling, good luck,” said the cabbie with a genuine tone. Betsy threw a ten pound note at him. She led Norman through the gates into the courtyard and home. The apartment was heated up like a sauna, for once this pleased Betsy. Norman had been shaking with coldness. To her delight he spoke, “I need to wash.” He pushed her aside heading for the shower room. Betsy relaxed in the lounge. She was surprised at the new Norman that rushed into join her after his quick shower. He was smiling, looking good and soon sat down opposite her with a glass of red wine. She lit him a cigarette and passed it over. “That’s very kind of you, considerate,” he said. “I will need to pop back to work in a minute.” “No you won’t,” Doc has wound up the show by now and I had put most of the money in the safe, just before I went on stage. Well, I am your assistant. Doc and Lenny will lock up. You want to talk? ” “How was Valentine’s Night?” “It went very well, must checkout the reviews.” “I don’t know why the fuck I went off to Paddy’s.” “Seemed like a good idea at the time dear!”

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Norman laughed, “Not really.” “I guess if Nancy was, oh sorry I shouldn’t have.” Norman’s laughter grew, “Let’s stop being so fucking morbid,” he insisted. Then standing up he ballet danced round the room, collecting the red wine bottle before he returned to his seat. Betsy was now confused. She wanted him to talk and thinking the wine might help loosen him up she opened another bottle. “Let’s have a session,” she suggested. He nodded, then toasted, “Stiff ones.” “Stiff ones, every time,” added Betsy. They drank, relaxed and listened to music. After a while Norman just started to talk, “Tonight has been surreal all of it, including now even. Will the rest of my life be like this?” he asked. Before Betsy had the chance to answer that she’d hope so, the doorbell sounded. She rushed over to the intercom, it was Doc. Now there were three of them Betsy felt the pressure off, she would let Doc debate the meaning of life with Norman; she went off for a long shower. Doc took up her seat and glass of wine, “I hung your jacket in the hallway.” “Thanks Doc,” Norman passed over a packet of cigarettes. Doc continued, “Maureen could have picked a better night to die on, I’d bet Paddy at least hadn’t wasted money on a card. Valentine’s Night, our big opening could have been ruined. She saved the night for you though, Zen was rubbish. While she was dying in bed, you were dying on stage. Betsy’s tits are bigger than I thought they’d be though.” Both men roared with laughter. “Mermaid,” shouted Doc, “fish and tits.” Their laughter echoed through to Betsy in the shower room. “Fucking blokes,” she scoffed. Then feeling she was missing out hurried her shower to re-join them. “So what will become of the Two Buttocks, now Paddy has gone doolally,” she asked on her grand entrance. “Like the kimono? I bought it in Norwich.” This was just too much for Doc and Norman they now hooted with laughter. “ Fuck off you pigs,” yelled Betsy, before collapsing into the hysterics. “Norman, come on, what’s what with Paddy now, pray tell dear boy?” asked Doc. “I need to talk to his Doctor. He’s staying there for a while; I’ll phone him in a few days.” “Stop worrying you two,” said Betsy. “It’s Saturday night, or it was. ‘And always look on the bright side,’ we sure got lots of money to play with. www.bibliotastic.com

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Paddy has been getting rich just sitting on his ass, possession is nine tenths of the law, let’s just go with flow, cheers.” She raised her glass, the others were less optimistic, however they joined her bizarre toast, “The Queen is dead, long live the Queen.” “I won’t ask you what that means, I’m too drunk,” said Doc “but you’re right, we must carry on. Got a show later today in fact. I’ll grab a cab now. ” Betsy saw him out. Norman had fallen asleep; she left him in the armchair as she would enjoy the entire bed to herself. First up in the morning was Norman; he made a pot of coffee, a plate of toast and joined Betsy in bed. “Another day another Euro,” she said, “thanks, I need this to get going, I fucking hate Sundays. What was Bob Geldof going on about in that awful song? Nothing wrong with Mondays, Pratt! ” “I think it was based on a true story,” added Norman. “Whatever.” “We’ve lots of work to do at the pub today Betsy.” “I’m off today.” “Oh! O.K.” “I might cycle by, later.” “I’m glad, we are not on stage tonight.” “Yeah let some other fuckers, have ago at insulting the World and his Wife.” “I can be nice to the customers, like I used to be.” “Think I’ll give that one a miss Norman dear, I fancy a nice quite night in on my own.” “So you’ll have my dinner waiting when I get home from work?” “Not as such, but I will have your wine and cigarettes in front of the radiator.” “Sounds good. And sex!” “Depends on what I watch on the tele, if it leaves me horny, you’re on.” “Sunday night, is a bit tame, so I’ll take that as a no then.” “Off you go to work dear.”

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Norman leaped out of bed. He amused Betsy nearly falling over several times as he struggled into his trousers. “Sit down you silly sod, why do men dress like?” she asked. “Cause real men do it standing up,” replied Norman. The Two Buttocks was a bit of a mess. Paddy had a thing about not employing cleaners, he also had a thing about child allowance, and Norman planned to include both of these philosophies on stage one night. With the cleaning all under control, he decided to pop around to see Ernest and Katie at the Prince. They were so pleased to see him that it brought tears to their eyes. Ernest ordered Norman a drink and muttered, “Thanks for looking after Paddy last night.” Norman took the drink sitting down beside Katie giving her a hug. Norman learned that Maureen had not been a popular woman; Paddy however had worshiped her. He had an accountant named Mr. Patel and Katie assured Norman he would soon come round and take charge of business affairs at the pub. The Doctor felt Paddy was not compos mentis at this time and had contacted Paddy’s solicitor, Norman listened with great interest. Ernest and Katie didn’t know of the great plans Norman, Betsy and Doc had made for themselves. Norman just nodded his acceptance of the situation. “You can always get your old job back, at the brewery,” suggested Katie, “you were popular there and Lenny would see you all right.” Norman nodded again, this time in appreciation as he excused himself to get back to work. Betsy was busy chaining her bike to a lamp-post as Norman returned to the Two Buttocks. “So, this is what you call hard work is it,” she taunted him. “Working class perk, dinner breaks.” “Lunch actually dear and remember work is a four letter word.” “I know and manual labour is a Mexican bandit. Come on, I saved you some four letter words.” The two got on with setting up the pub for the evening opening. They wound each other up as they speeded through their superficial cleaning task. Betsy was a good singer and drowned out the tape playing. Norman left her to it, going off to talk business on the telephone with Doc. Early afternoon, work completed they locked up the pub. Betsy continued on her cycle expedition. Norman set off to walk back to the apartment. He

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was not expecting to be greeted at the front door by Doc, “Hope you don’t mind old boy.” “Not at all,” replied Norman, “Betsy has gone off cycling, come in.” “Do you think it’s sexual, Norman?” “What?” “Her cycling like that.” “Hope so, anything else would be perverted.” “Quite, I’d swap places with that saddle of hers though, sorry, you were saying?” “Red wine Doc?” “Just a litre please.” “Anyway, what brings you here, I thought I was just talking to you on the phone or did I just imagine that!” “Ah, the million lire question, thought you’d never ask. I am a trifle concerned about the Paddy factor, only we kind of skated around that one earlier.” “I had a drink with Ernest and Katy this lunchtime.” “And how are those lovable cockney characters?” “Sarcasm, eh!” “Put me out of my misery Norman please.” “It seems that Paddy will need time to get going again. His accountant Mr. Patel will contact me soon, very soon. Now you know as much as me.” “Mr. Patel! Oh no! I feel a fucking song coming on. It’s the blues, woke up this morning our comedy venue had all gone, turned into a corner shop, mercy, mercy Lord what did I do wrong.” “These things happen Doc.” “Oh that’s alright then. Not to me they fucking don’t. I think we had better all turn up at the funeral, yeah that’s it and we’ll get a huge turn out from the stand-ups. It’s like he needs to let us keep the Two Buttocks open in his Mrs. Memory, O.K. badly worded perhaps, but we can’t take this standing up.”

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Norman was bemused. His mobile rang. “Yes Norman speaking, Mr. Patel, what can I do for you? Monday at the pub mid-day sure, yes I can make that, Doc! Yes of course, O.K. bye.” “Well you sure told him Norm.” “Sooner we get sorted the better, I thought you wanted to know your fate!” “Yep, I did, but not sure if I do now.” “Well Monday we will, now drink up and I’ll stick some pizzas in the oven.” “Betsy returned as Norman was finding his way round the kitchen area.” “Who do I have to fuck round here to get a drink, “she asked in her full Norfolk accent.” “The old ones are the best,” responded Doc. “Pizza dear?” added Norman. “I would have preferred some food, for just once, but go on then.” “Would you both please stop trying to upstage me, just relax,” pleaded Doc as he put a C.D. on and danced out onto the balcony, forbidding the Thames to come any nearer. “Stay wayth from my wharf,” he screamed and waved his arms. Neighbours curtains twitched as he tossed his wine at the river. “I’ll freeze you for ever, oh mighty Father Thames.” “Pizzas ready Doc,” called Norman, “go and wash your hands before you come to the table.” Betsy had set the table, the three sat down for their late lunch. There was no talk of business, Doc and Norman keeping quiet about their Monday meeting with Mr. Patel. Talk was of the night’s stand-ups. “You will miss some good turns Betsy, if you stay home,” said Doc. “And some bad ones,” she responded, “so who you got Doc.” “Rasta Man,” for starters. “Rasta Man!” exclaimed Norman. “Yes that’s his stage name.” “Stage name!” “Look, the guy’s been driving me round since last year,” pleaded Doc, “why! Because he wants to be a stand up and I have been coaching him, now as his Sole Agent and of course Manager.”

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Betsy interrupted, “You must of course get him a gig or the free taxi rides might stop.” “No no no no no, wrong, now I have got him ready for his debut,” insisted Doc banging his fist on the dining table, “I will present him to the World. He is mine I created him, all mine, mine you see. O.K. he’s all right, I’ve seen a lot fucking worse.” “That’s slave labour you know,” added Betsy, “I thought it had been abolished, well in England anyway. But this is worse, you get this guy to drive you round all year, then as his reward he gets to go on stage for 5 mins so people can laugh at him and that’s if he’s lucky.” “But has slavery been abolished?” asked Doc, “What about call centres, the fucking computer tells them when they can get a piss, then it says byebye I’m off to India, the job centres that way Pratt.” “Well thank you for sharing your extremely narrow perspective of the World with us Doc but it’s time for the lady to retire.” Betsy headed off to lie down on the king-size. The men continued eating, drinking and chatting in lowered voices; she fell asleep. The apartment living area was large enough for Betsy to be uninterrupted whilst the men relaxed with fresh red wine endless cigarettes and Van Morrison. Within the hour they slept. Betsy was the first to awake, she opened all the windows. “Up you get boys, time for work, fuck off,” she shrilled, speeding round the apartment, “look at this mess,” she cleared away ashtrays and wine goblets from the floor beside their armchairs. Totally disturbed now the two set about making coffee; Doc having to take charge of this challenge. “We can smarten up at the pub later,” he insisted, Norman agreed and minutes later they were walking off to the cab office. Outside of the Two Buttocks some of the bar staff were waiting for Norman to unlock “Sorry we’re late,” called out Norman. “We,” shouted Doc, “he’s the Boss; hey Rasta good to see you on time, tonight’s the night, nice, got your Lynx on? And that must be a suit from the George Collection surely.” They filed in to the pub. Rasta stood up on the stage, “Can I have a practice Doc?” he asked. “You’ve been practicing for a year man.” “Yeah but that was just in my cab.” “Carry on, Rasta Man, tonight East London, tomorrow Montego Bay.”

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The hustle of the opening preparation drowned out Rasta Man’s rehearsal which just consisted of him pacing up and down mumbling. Doc had to talk him off the stage as the doors opened. Norman still found it hard to believe that Doc’s mini cab driver would soon be let loose on a Two Buttocks audience. The crowds poured in, the staff had to change up a gear. Lenny was panicking on the door dealing with the numbers. Norman cornered Doc, “I do hope you can make them laugh tonight Doc,” he said, “There are a lot of them to keep happy.” “Just the usual lynch mob Norman, if the going gets tough you and I will just pull it out the hat.” “I’m not on tonight,” replied Norman. “Never Say Never, Zen. I’ll put Rasta on first; then the only way is up. If it’s looking too bad just do a happy hour, get them pissed, put on some music, they’ll forget why their here anyway. As long as we all have a good time, just live for tonight Zen. Don’t loose your amateur status and let’s have some fun, ‘Let’s go get stoned.’ The doors had to be closed within an hour of opening, the crowd, mainly staff from the local hospital were out for a good night; with a birthday, stag night and a leaving party to celebrate Doc felt they would be easy. He played to his audience as he declared the start of the show. Dressed as a hospital Doctor he asked for a nurse from the crowd to come upon stage to hold his stethoscope, with no takers he asked, “O.K. then can I get a nurse up here to take my temperature, no, you’d be quite safe I’m not really a pervert, I could have been had I not been born such a great Comedian of course. Any hospital porters in, no, thank Beckham for that, spooky possums, they’re like the walking dead, you don’t believe me, read, ‘Spawn,’ sorry Patrick. See we got some parties in tonight, where’s the birthday person, glad I said person and where’s the stag, oh ha ha ha don’t make me laugh, can anybody get married these days? Once you had to at least look the fucking part. Beckham there’s still hope for me. Who’s leaving, oh it’s that fucking Pratt, so what did you get sacked for? Necrophilia! Did the earth move? Don’t know why I said that really. Any way enough of this gay banter, please give a Two Buttocks welcome, not literally of course, we have now live on stage one of North London’s finest mini cab drivers, it’s Rasta Man.” Onto the stage ambled Rasta man to the amazement of all, especially Doc and Norman; he was wearing the most colourful shirt and shorts, the pub had sunshine in February. Even more of concern to Doc was the fact that Rasta had a small electric guitar slung round his neck. It was a strange

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looking home-made instrument, with built in amplifier and speaker. He stepped up to the microphone. “For my first song I will sing, ‘Get up Stand Up’ thank you.” He hit the guitar and sang. At first there was a shocked silent response, this soon changed as the crowd turned into a live music audience and they were loving it. Rasta Man wasn’t bad; Doc changed the lighting to suit. Norman shook his head in disbelief; Doc was getting away with it yet again. Rasta followed on with ‘Stir It Up’ announced in an apologetic manner. The Bob Marley songs had set an atmosphere that would now be difficult for the others to follow. Doc realised this he needed a plan of action and quick. As Rasta was still basking in the applause for his second offering Doc joined him on stage. “Thank you thank you,” he shouted. “ Now I know how Brian Epstein felt, not literately of course. O.K. here’s the deal, Rasta Man will be back much later to close the show with more great reggae hits for you. ” He ushered Rasta off the stage and back into the changing room. D.J.Ed Nolmans as instructed by Doc played some Beatles hits; this tempo change kept the crowd happy enough and would ease the way for the next act. Back stage Doc was about to have some serious words with his new act. “I hope you know some more good songs Rasta, or we’re fucked later,” shouted Doc. “Well mun, those were ma best.” “O.K. you just stay here, I’ll get one of the girls to bring you some Jamaican rum. You got two hours to practice. We got a Bob Marley tape somewhere, that’ll help and I’ll teach you a funny one see you later. ” Doc returned to oversee the show. Norman wanted answers. “Think Zen, be in tune with things Norman,” screamed Doc over the roars of the crowd. “Yes Rasta Man has conned me, or has he!” Doc and Norman took a breather and a drink as a few auditions followed each other onto the stage. Bungalow Bill had just arrived; he was the top of the bill. The three men were enjoying a good drink and a laugh at one of the new faces on stage. Doc had installed a laughter effect into the sound system; the guy wasn’t at all funny, but the canned laughter made the audience laugh, this confused everyone especially the stand-up. Betsy arrived. “Interrupting your boys’ night out am I?” she asked, her eyes fixed on Norman. “You want a drink dear,” he answered. She joined them happily. “Just in time to witness another of my great performances Betsy,” shouted Bill.

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“Another!” she shouted back, “how was Rasta Man? I see he didn’t empty the place. ” Doc gloated, “He went down so fucking well, he’s coming back to close the show.” Bill looked surprised, shrugged his shoulders, “I still want the same money Doc,” he insisted. “No probs Bill, when has the Doc ever ripped you off.” With that said it was time for the clumsy Aussie to get ready for his turn on stage. After a couple more drinks with Norman and Betsy, the Doc felt his phone vibrate, the text told him Bill was ready to go mad. Doc took to the stage, screaming at the crowd, “ I never wanted to be a compare, I really wanted to be a fat Australian comedian, talking of which, here is one I made earlier, it’s that time already folks, here’s Bungalow top of the bill Bill.” “You whinging fucking poms, do you ever fucking stop whinging and wining? Back home we say there’s nothing worse than a Brit.tourist except more than one of course. So what is it now; what’s fucking wrong today? Oh did it rain ah, heard of umbrellas; staying in; the Rain Forest. You got it made over here and you still fucking whinge. I love England myself; it’s the women, shag like rattlers. But you guys really miss out, you don’t do the old business like you should, it’s not hard, well it should be, just lie the sheilas down and give ‘em a good seeing to or better still table end ‘em when you get home from work. Take out the day’s frustrations by throwing the old one-eyed trouser snake into the nearest watering hole you can find.” Norman and Betsy had heard it all before, Bill carried on insulting the English in great style. The pair cuddled a bit, which was unusual in public, Betsy quizzed Norman over Rasta Man. “You’ll see him for yourself soon,” he whispered in her ear. “Watering hole indeed,” she said, “That Bill is a fucking pig.” “Yes, but a fucking funny pig,” replied Norman. Bill stayed on stage longer than usual, as if somewhat challenged by Rasta closing the show. Eventually he ran out of material and following his rowdy departure off stage after a rendition of a ‘Long and Whinging Road,’ Bill joined Norman and Betsy at the bar. “Well, I wanted a good view of Rasta Man,” he explained. “So what’s with this guy then?” Norman ordered over some more drinks, but said nothing, mainly because he was a bit speechless on that subject still. The D.J. was playing as instructed by the Doc a selection of drab music with the treble turned down to assist Rasta to sound O.K. at worst.

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“Ladies, Gentleman and Betsy,” announced Doc, “here to sing his latest composition co-written with yours truly of course, you’ve waited long enough, it’s the man who put the casual into labour Rasta Man.” The crowd responded with warm applause, Rasta sang, “Whenever I’m sad, whenever I’m blue, Whenever my troubles are heavy Beneath the stars, I play my guitar, just like Tony. Blair la la lal lala, la la la lala la ” The crowd joined in, “Blair la la la lala la la la lala la,” Played in the Reggae style, the crowd went berserk. “More, more, more,” they started to chant. Rasta eased into ‘Satisfy My Soul,’ then finished his set with a very long, ‘Jamming,’ another Bob Marley classic. Doc jumped up as it ended encouraging the applause to even greater heights. He screamed, “Good night, see you next weekend and don’t forget, if you can’t be with the one you fuck, fuck the one you‘re with, Beckham bless you.” The stage lights were faded as the D.J. rebelled by playing the Sid Vicious version of ‘My Way.’ The crowd even found this a funny as they started to spill out onto the pavement. The pub lights came up to allow the staff to clean the tables. Norman took charge of the close up as Doc was catching a free lift home with Rasta. He shouted across the bar to Norman, “Keep an open mind and a watchful eye Zen, see you back here mid-day. Now Rasta here’s an idea, ‘Get on down like a text machine’ perhaps not, let’s go.” Betsy helped with the lock up, she and Norman hurried back to the apartment after yet another memorable night.

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Chapter Nine - Enter Mr. Patel Centre Stage

“It’s 11.30 shit I don’t believe it,” shouted Norman. “Help, help Betsy, I can’t be late; some coffee please, just use the water from the hot tap.” She presented him with his caffeine as he headed towards the door. Taking just a large swig, he kissed her goodbye and thanks. “Oh I get a wife’s kiss now do I?” she complained. He ran down the street to the cab office, only to be told he’d have to wait. At least now he could allow himself time for a cigarette. The cab arrived in two cigarettes. It was just after mid-day as he got out of the cab. Doc was stood outside the venue reading a paperback. “He’s not here yet! Great,” said Norman interrupting Doc in his reading. “Nope, it’s freezing man, let’s get inside.” Norman unlocked the front door noticing the security bolt was already off and the alarm de-activated and the bar cleaning lights were on. Sitting at the largest table now covered in paperwork was, “Mr. Patel” enquired Norman. “Yes, that is me,” replied the well dressed and distinguished looking Mr. Patel. “I hope you do not mind me letting myself in? I was early, these are Paddy’s keys. You must be Norman and Doc.” “Yes that’s us, replied Doc.” “I am very pleased to be meeting with you both, we have much to discuss.” The three men sat together looked an unlikely group to be talking business. Norman not quite himself yet offered coffee. Doc and Mr Patel ordered tea and then made polite conversation as Norman went off to the bar kitchen. On his return he looked more alive, having drank one cup already. The three all smoked, the scene now looked like a card school Doc noticed and then thought perhaps it was. The short nervous silence was soon broken. Mr. Patel opened the meeting, “Please call me Patel all my friends do.” “Patelallmyfriendsdo!” called out Doc. Norman frowned and shook his head. Mr. Patel laughed, “Now I know why Paddy refers to you as that fucking comedian. Very good I must remember that one. Down to business, Paddy is to go into a private nursing home on the recommendation of his Doctor. You met him Norman, a good friend to Paddy and the late Maureen of course. It is a very nice place, not cheap though. He will need time to, let’s say get going again, he’s still only in mid-life 50 something, just like me. We feel: www.bibliotastic.com

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that is his Doctor; Solicitor and I, that in the short to medium term things could carry on here as in the recent past. However we can’t say anything of the long term right now. We have to see how Paddy progresses, then there is the Brewery to consider, they own the pub and Paddy of course is only the Tennant. In my capacity as accountant to Paddy and Maureen I have been made aware of course of your arrangements with Paddy and see no need to make changes. Please gentlemen tell me how you feel, be honest, I know you must have some concerns.” “Questions, more like,” answered Norman now fully awake. “So I would deal direct with you, instead of Paddy.” “Correct.” “Will I get to talk to Paddy first?” “No, that is not possible, I’m sorry to say. On the authority of his Doctor, his Solicitor has granted Power of Attorney of this business to me.” “Fair enough, but I would like to visit Paddy as a friend as soon as possible.” “You will see him at the Funeral Service this Wednesday but not to talk business. You and I Norman are in charge of the pub and of course Doc we hope will continue to provide the entertainment.” “Sounds fair to me,” added Doc, “so we all just carry on more or less the same.” “Well nearly, just some fine tuning, I will go through with young Norman here. So we will not detain you any longer Doc, pleasure to meet you. I must pop in here one evening see if you can make me laugh, perhaps at the end of one of my bad days in the office. ” Doc with a shocked look got up, shook hands with Mr. Patel, nodded to Norman and headed out through the front door; he made a point of not slamming it behind him. “Well Norman, perhaps as it is now past mid-day you would poor me a large gin and tonic and whatever you would like.” Norman jumped up, showing his lack of skills behind the bar. “So young Norman, if you would please provide me with the weekend’s figures and of course the takings, we can balance up.” Norman went through to the office, returning with two cloth moneybags and a sheet of paper with till roll readings stapled on. “This is it then!”

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Mr. Patel studied the till readings, the scribbled notes on the door takings, then pulled out the bundles of bank notes, “I don’t understand, you took all this in just two nights!” “Yes, we were pretty busy.” “Pretty busy, is an understatement Norman, I would say. We may have a problem here. I was under the impression from Paddy that this place was taking considerably less than this. Have a look at these figures Norman from last year. Tell me honestly what you think. ” Norman studied the neatly entered figures in the accounts book. “They seem much lower than we took, are they the gross figures.” “Yes all gross these ones.” Norman shook his head. “Pub Landlords,” exclaimed Mr. Patel, “a special breed, this puts you and I in a very difficult position young Norman. I will not mix my words; our good friend Paddy has been cooking the books. We are now to be torn between doing the right thing or the very right thing. I need time to think, I’ll put all this into my safe for now and I’ll take you to my restaurant for lunch. We will talk further as we eat, that might stop me getting ulcers over this business if nothing else.” Norman put the alarm on as the two men left the pub. Mr.Patel pointed to his Mercedes car parked on a double yellow line, watched over by his huge chauffeur. They cruised the couple of streets on the way to the Indian Restaurant. On their arrival the car doors were opened for them and they were escorted into a large busy restaurant. Their table overlooked the entire ground floor packed out with diners; many seemed to be aware Mr. Patel was there as he used sign language to order food and drink. Their table was soon overflowing; Mr. Patel looked thoughtful before addressing Norman, “Forgive me young man, I am rude, I am not being a good host, cheers and good appetite.” The two men drank wine and ate from a truly tempting selection of dishes. “Well, we should have the best, young Norman, after all I do own the fucking place, there you see I can do stand-up comedy.” He laughed loudly. “I used to live near here,” remarked Norman. “Yes I know, with Ernest and Katie, she is an attractive women your Auntie. Still, business Norman, oh dear what a fucking mess. Still needs must and we indeed must protect Paddy at all cost. You must assure me though, that what I am about to tell you along with what you already know will remain our secret, well apart from Paddy of course. I will come in next weekend and watch you guys at work, see if it gives me any ideas as to the best way forward. Next Monday I will meet again with just you, then I will decide. Let’s eat, young Norman, I must have a proper lunch most important www.bibliotastic.com

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meal of the day for me that is.” The two men feasted. When their table had been re-set for coffee and cognac they both lit up cigarettes. “Do you have a girlfriend Norman,” enquired Mr. Patel. “Yes, I guess I have.” “Is she pretty, Norman?” “Yes, very.” “Good, you should leave ugly women for ugly men, or else it causes an in-balance.” “I had not thought of it that way,” “There is a reason for most things Norman.” “Including, Paddies book keeping?” “Of course, Paddy yes, that reminds me the Funeral Service. Maureen is to be cremated, very fitting considering she was a chain smoker. You will need to hang black drapes over the Two Buttocks signs. A few relatives will go there after. I will lay on the catering, just a small gathering. My secretary will E-mail you with the details.” Norman nodded his understanding of the situation as his phone rang just once; he switched it off. “Such good manners Norman,” exclaimed Mr. Patel, “your parents must be very proud of you. I must not detain you any longer. Perhaps it was your very pretty girlfriend that phoned, good-bye young man. A taxi for Norman at once please.” Mr.Patel only had to raise his hand for the Manager to respond, he escorted Norman to the door and into the waiting minicab. Just minutes later as the cab crossed over Tower Bridge, Norman caught sight of Betsy leaving their local newsagents; he stopped the cab to join her for the short walk to her apartment. The driver would not accept payment, “It’s on Mr. Patel,” he explained. Betsy was surprised to see Norman get out of the large black BMW. “Joined the Mafia Norman,” she joked. “If I answer that I’ll have to kill you.” “Or fuck me,” “Or fuck you.” “Better tell me quick then.” “Well, let’s just say Don Patel has made me an offer I can’t refuse.” “I get fucked for that!”

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“That’s life.” Betsy noticed the cab driver had not pulled away yet, “Quick Norman let’s ask him to take us to a gallery first.” She grabbed him by the hand dragging him back to the car. “Please take us to the Tate Gallery, not the new one,” she asked the driver. “Sure Madam.” “I’ll pay,” “No need Madam, Mr.Patel owns this cab company, I’ll be paid.” Norman and Betsy settled into their luxurious surrounds as the car eased away. “Norman you never talk about your Art College days; what did you do there?” “I studied the art of Stand-up Comedy.” “Very droll Norman, anyway you dropped out, are you a drifter Norman? I guess I’ll find out.” It seemed liked the spring weather had come early as they arrived at the Tate. They both thanked their driver before climbing the stone steps to the gallery doors. They paused for a last cigarette in the sunshine before entering, this reminded Norman of Maureen’s Funeral. “We have to work Wednesday lunchtime at the pub,” he blurted out in a nervous tone. “So what’s new?” “Ah, it’s Maureen’s Funeral.” “Oh, dead at the Two Buttocks, I see.” “You’re sick; Mr.Patel is expecting a few of her relatives to go there after the crematorium.” “Crematorium! it gets worse, will you buy me a sexy black outfit and fuck me in it after?” “Yes, but not till we get home.” “Count me in for Wednesday then, should be fun. Now let’s go and get horny.” Once inside the gallery she led the way, as a frequent visitor Betsy new what she liked. “I’ll get Katie a fridge magnet,” he said loudly enough to embarrass her.

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“Yes Norman and while you’re at it, why not get Ernest a fucking Tate comb case!” “Good idea, thanks.” He wandered off in the direction of the gift shop leaving Betsy to study some Turner paintings at length. An hour later she found him still browsing the shop. “Come on little boy, I’ll buy you an icecream.” They found an empty table in the café, Betsy sent Norman off to make their purchase. He returned with two massive ice-cream deserts. “So what did you buy in the gift shop?” “Here take a look.” “Lots of post cards, a comb and a case and you did get Katie a fridge magnet. What’s this book? Turner!” “It’s for you; I can change it for another if you have this one already. It seemed the best one on Turner to me.” “Oh Norman thank you, it’s just perfect, but a hardback, so expensive.” “I know, but you did say I could fuck you later, so I thought, damn the expense.” “Better not keep you waiting too long then had I.” “After these ice-creams, please show me your favourite Turner paintings, tell me why you love to look at them and then let’s get the fuck out of here, O.K.” “You got yourself a deal, you smooth talking bastard.” Betsy showed off her special collection, he was very attentive as she explained her feelings. She clutched the present to her chest and seemed to be walking on air as they made their way home. She led the way to a bus stop after they had walked across Vauxhall Bridge. “The Thames looks like a great masters oil painting in this light, just look at it Norman.” He nodded and glanced at his watch, it was nearly 5 o’clock. On the South side they ran to catch their bus. The traffic was heavy and with half their journey completed Betsy suggested it would quicker to walk. She showed Norman how to cut through to Dock head and the apartment. Once home, they showered together. Norman finished first and prepared large gin and tonics. Betsy joined him, opening the balcony doors ready to clear their cigarette smoke. The tide was high and visible through all the windows. “Look it’s just like being at sea Norman.” “I guess so, not that I’ve been to sea yet, but who knows.”

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“Now how about an early night Norman, fuck that is of course.” She walked over to the bedside, let her silk robe drop to the floor and then slowly slipped in under the duvet. Norman accepted her invitation without consideration. They enjoyed their sex to the sound of the Thames filling the wharf. The outside lights shone in through the windows as the pair provided free adult entertainment for their neighbours across the water. With their long awaited sex over, it was time for more gin and tonics. Betsy closed the balcony doors; still naked she now pulled down the window blinds. They shared a cigarette, “It’s better for the environment,” said Betsy, “I’m hungry now.” She re-joined Norman in bed. “Ah slight case of out of sink,” he replied. “ I had an enormous lunch, Indian actually, hence the gin and tonics now. ” “This was with Mr. Patel!” “In his restaurant, after our meeting at the pub.” “Well you have had a long hard day Boss, I guess we should stay in tonight, I’ll ring for some Chinese to be delivered. You may want some later.” She made the call. They both dozed, the door buzzer rang. Norman went to pay for the food. Betsy soon started picking what she fancied straight out of the cartons, with her bedside chopsticks. She then sat at the small round iron table in front of the balcony doors. Her silk robe was open, revealing her long slim shapely legs. Norman viewed her; he knew there would be more sex that night. Betsy had put Lord of the Rings on the big-screen. “This is a pirate, got it from Doc today. I must be the last person in England to see this,” she exclaimed with her mouth full of Chinese take-away. “Joint last actually,” replied Norman. “You saw Doc today?” “Yeah he stopped by, after he left you and Mr. Patel at the pub.” “Was he alright?” “Thoughtful, well it’s with the Paddy factor being unknown, Doc’s let’s say nervous.” “And you Betsy.” “ I‘m just pleased, Doc remembered this movie, I’ve been asking him for ages, look at these special effects Norman, it’s much more exciting than stand-up comedy.” Norman shook his head then stared at the screen. They watched the film through, fumbling round from time to time in the dark to locate their cigarettes or pour fresh drinks.

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By the end of the film they were both ready for another romp in the kingsize followed by child-like sleep. They were woken early next morning by a phone call from Doc wanting to know what time the office as he called it would be opened. Norman and Betsy agreed to meet him there at 10 o’clock. It was business as usual for the three at the Two Buttocks on arrival. Norman left Doc and Betsy to manage the entertainment side, he had to now to get to grips with the beer cellar. Having worked in his college bar, he fancied the challenge but not so much the work. He also had to order stock from the brewery, there was an old faded order sheet pinned up in the cellar, good old Paddy he thought I’ll just repeat the previous week to the tele-sales girl at the brewery. “Where’s Paddy? Having a day off is he?” she enquired laughing. “Yeah I’m his barman Norman, cheers love.” Norman was not intending to let the brewery know of Paddies present state of mind. “Hey Zen,” shouted Doc down the cellar stairs. “ You got an E-mail from our friend Patelallmyfriendsdo. Come and have a coffee in the office, you’ll need it.” Norman presumed he was the last of them to read it. Doc was obviously awaiting an explanation. “It’s just the Funeral arrangements for tomorrow,” announced Norman. “Oh that’s alright then, only I thought it was a sketch he’d written for us,” replied Doc. “Might as well be really,” muttered Betsy, almost to herself. “I can’t see a part for me, thank goodness.” added Doc. “What ever happened to the, ‘We must all turn up at Maureen’s Funeral,’ speech, Doc?” asked Betsy. He looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, good one Betsy,” added Norman, “we’ll write you a nice big part Doc, maybe the lead.” “O.K. I’m not greedy, just a walk on part for me thanks,” he replied. “For starters then,” asked Norman “please get some of your crew to cover up all the Two Buttocks signs and apart from us just get all the staff here on time please. We can’t trust any of the stand-ups to behave at a Funeral with free booze on tap.” The three of them got busy on, ‘The Funeral Gig,’ as Doc insisted on calling it. Betsy was planning flowers for the tables. Doc offered to bring in his Leonard Cohen tape and Norman went out to get the sherry from ASDA. After this short burst of good intention, they walked round to the

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local cafe. Pleased to find a vacant table by the window, they studied the grease-stained menu. “Now I know how goldfish feel,” complained Betsy. “ Wet and slimy, aye, ” said Norman just as the elderly waitress arrived to clean off the mess left on the table by the last economy diners. “ Can I have a salad Ms?” enquired Doc. “I’ll need to ask the boss” A Fred Flintstone double nodded his acceptance of the challenge. “Oh super,” shouted Doc. “I’ll ‘ave a chicken salad and chips then lovey.” “You tosser Doc,” added Betsy with the agreement of the waitress. “What was it Robbie Coltrane said in that advert,” Doc answered his own question, “we’re all wankers now.” He smiled in satisfaction at having the last word. Norman wasted no time in attacking his food on arrival noted Betsy and Doc who were now busy debating T.V. sit.-coms. “The Royal Family is a bit like Till Death Do Us Part,” added Doc, “without the humour of course.” He laughed at this. “Well I, think it’s fucking brilliant.” “You only think that because a Woman helped to write it dear, now do continue with your lunch and don’t upset yourself with such matters.” Betsy shook her head at Norman as she started her meal. “Who’s doing what after lunch,” asked Doc. “Only I’m picking up my kids from school today.” “Guess we could come up that way with you,” suggested Betsy. “ Norman is going to buy me a cute little black outfit for tomorrow. There are some decent shops in Hampstead.” “This is going to cost you Norm, but sure join us. I’ll treat you both to a milkshake.” After lunch they finished up their work at the pub, and then squeezed into Betsy’s car for the journey up to North London. She dropped Doc off near the school, “I’d give the shop lifting a miss dear; C.C.T.V. everywhere in Hampstead you know,” he shouted after the car, “They used to say the World was a stage, now it’s a fucking film-set.” Only Norman waved back. They parked outside Doc’s apartment and walked onto the shops. Betsy had a great time teasing Norman over her choice of black sexy funeral wear, complete with black stilettos, stockings, gloves and a veil. She insisted Norman bought just a black leather coat and new designer underwear as he

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still had his black doormen’s suit. He had never spent so much money on clothes before and remained silent for their walk back down the hill. They found Doc and his daughters still in the ice-cream parlour. Betsy had hoped she would have missed them. Their table was a disaster area. Norman became a huge success with the girls ordering them even more ice cream and helping them to eat it. With his face also now covered in several colours of ice cream he sang to the girls, ‘Flush the Magic Toilet.’ He was next in demand giving them piggyback rides as the group went for a walk on the Heath. As Doc had not organised a ball for some child-like activities, Norman took off a huge woollen sock, rolled it up and threw it at the girls in turn. They would run off screaming in delight as Norman shouted, “The smelly sock is coming to get you.” The group looked an odd one even for North London, Betsy was struggling with all her high street shopping bags, Norman and the girls with ice cream on their faces. Suddenly a dog grabbed the sock and ran off back to its’ surprised owner. “Doc, perhaps you could get Norman some gigs as a brat entertainer,” suggested Betsy. “Well perhaps I should, it pays better than stand-up, especially in Hampstead,” he replied. They all made their way back to Doc’s flat. Norman waved goodbye to the girls as he returned to the, “Safety of the car,” as Betsy called it, “they behave just like kids.” She proclaimed as they drove away at high speed. Norman pushed himself back into his seat pretending to experience G-Force; Betsy laughed. Soon she was pulling up at their local Italian restaurant. “Fuck it,” said Betsy, “I’m parking here tonight, let’s get pissed fed and fucked in that order, cause I aint looking forward to tomorrow, so I need an anaesthetic.” “Three of them!” enquired Norman. “Well that’s the advantage of going private.” They dived into their early dinners. With both looking forward to the sex, they did not converse. The waiter brought their bill only to find an empty table covered in money, but he was happy enough as Norman and Betsy rushed off hand in hand back to the flat. The front door slammed behind them indicating the start of a very private event. The apartment although in the thick of London’s life was silent. The warehouse walls and water soundproofed them. Betsy hated this silence, she grabbed a remote control which produced loud music. She danced into the main living space opening the balcony doors on her way to collapsing on the www.bibliotastic.com

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bed. Norman had gone for a shower, when he returned she was asleep. He poured himself a beer, noticing how early it was he switched onto the news channel. The news was so boring he grabbed a post-it-note, scribbled two words for Betsy and ventured out for a walk. As he neared Tower Bridge passing a pub, the pavement chalkboard read ‘Tonight Sit-down Comedy with Mickey Finn.’ Through the pub window Norman noticed Mickey sat up at the bar so he joined him. “High Norman, what can I get you?” “I can’t get you one back.” “So what, I owe you a good few drinks mate. But don’t order a gin and tonic, they’ve run out of clitoris fruit, sorry about that one mate.” The barmaid smiled, “P’raps, not” said Mickey. “Cheers, only I’ve come out without any money, just for a walk, saw you and here I am.” “Not much of a walk, where’s Betsy, you aint done ‘er in ‘ave you?” “She’s sleeping; pissed.” “Oh that’s alright, mind, if she dies of choking on her own vomit, you’ll be a suspect.” “Mickey don’t be so fucking morbid, or is this Sit-down Comedy!” “Oh that, Doc’s idea, he booked me in here. So she’s alright then.” “You want to phone her just to make sure Mickey?” “No need, it will be in the papers if you ‘ave done ‘er in.” “If your old Gran could see you now, Mickey.” “Hey, that’s my line Norman. I’m not on here you know, it’s upstairs. You’ll come up?” “No sorry, early night tonight, Funeral tomorrow.” “You did kill her then.” “Not yet, see you soon Mickey, thanks for the beer.” “If you need an alibi.” “I’ll call you.” “She’s tasty though Norman, skinny, a bit like fucking a xylophone I should imagine, no offence meant of course.” “None taken Mickey; see you soon mate.”

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“Yeah, I enjoyed our little chat, given me an idea for my routine tonight, cheers.” Norman ambled back to the apartment, hiring a video on route. Betsy was still asleep on his return. He threw away the note and poured himself a large glass of wine. Betsy awoke and joined him. She seemed to have lost interest in sex that evening, Norman would not remind her. They settled down to watch the hired video, “I didn’t know you liked cartoons Norman.” “It’s a bit more than a cartoon, really, or so Doc says.” They both watched the movie before in silence going for that early night. “Bring out your dead, bring out your dead,” shouted Doc through their letterbox early the next morning. Betsy rushed to let him in. “Shut up you clown, I do have neighbours you know.” “Clown aye, I like that.” He picked up the hire video, “Finding Nemo, did you enjoy it?” “All that water, made me keep going to the toilet.” “Weak bladder Betsy! Well you are getting on a bit, how old are you? ” “Fuck off Doc.” “Perhaps I’ll discuss the films artistic merits with Norman later,” Doc decided. Norman on hearing his name mentioned stirred, “Be with you shortly guys,” he yawned. Betsy threw an odd selection of food on the table. “Ahha,” said Doc, “continental breakfast, Idéal pour de vieilles dames.” “Fuck off Dock, excuse my French,” shouted Betsy. Norman looked confused.

The three ate in silence, then leaving the table in a mess and the room full of smoke they made their way in Betsy’s car to the Two Buttocks for 9 o’clock. A couple of Doc’s willing and generally unpaid assistants were already busy hanging black drapes over the venue signs in a manner that suggested this was a very low budget job. Norman shook his head as he entered the pub. The telephone was ringing, Betsy answered it. “Oh I see,

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O.K. I’ll tell Norman, thank you Mr. Patel, Betsy that’s right Betsy, bye. That was Mr. Patel.” “Yeah I think we gathered that, what’s happening,” asked Doc. “Well,” replied Betsy, some of Maureen’s family arrived last night, popped round here for a remembrance drink only to be greeted by Two Buttocks, literally of course, need I say more. Mr. Patel is to save the day, of course. The knees-up will now be at the Prince of Wales.” “I’ll fucking drink to that,” shouted Doc. “Seconded,” added Norman. “Motion passed therefore,” concluded Betsy. “Going, going, fucking gone,” they all said in unison, led by Doc before he ran outside to call off the work party. “Good job I wasn’t paying them,” he said on his return. “So it’s business as usual,” Betsy concluded, “I’ll put the coffee on.” “Still, just the small matter of the Funeral of course,” Norman reminded the others.

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Chapter Ten - Three Comedians and another Funeral, but the Show must go on.

Eleven thirty, Betsy pinned a note on the door of the Two Buttocks to inform the staff of the change of venue. The three-sum set off towards the crematorium. They soon arrived to join the other mourners filing in at the back; they watched the show. “This is spooky,” whispered Betsy. “Can we smoke?” “Just like going to the dentist,” remarked Doc, “it will be over soon.” It was and they joined the others for the silent walk onto the Prince of Wales. “What a fucking gig,” whispered Doc, “there’s comedy material here, it’s free, so tuck in.” Charles was doing a great job hosting Maureen’s send-off. Ernest and Katie arrived with some others from the brewery in search of the free booze. When the Two Buttocks staff arrived to earn their double pay offered by Doc, there was standing room only. Mr.Patel entered last, with his wife and close family. The women in his group were beautiful in full Indian dress adding something desperately needed at this event, “ Classy man aye, ” Doc spoke in awe “ Norman just look at these fucking horny women.” “I’d liked to die in the bath with all of them,” replied Norman. “And me,” insisted Doc. “No not you Doc, just the women,” replied Norman. Betsy re-joined the two, interrupting their fantasies, “Indian sausage rolls, boys,” she offered, they laughed. It was Mr. Patel who led the tributes to Maureen, his by far the most eloquent; he excused Paddy’s absence on medical grounds. “Medical grounds,” muttered Betsy to Doc, “Maureen turned up and she’s dead.” Pleased to leave the mess and the profits for Charles to put away, the Two Buttocks crowd retreated to their World. They totalled twelve Doc noticed and he made a Biblical reference. Patrick took up position behind the bar, “Sherry anyone,” he offered. “Don’t open that,” shouted Norman, “I’m gono take that back to the shop.” “Tell ‘em she rose again, in the oven, so to speak” suggested Doc.

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“You’re sick,” replied Patrick, “so who wants what and who’s paying?” “Mine’s a large fruit juice and I’m paying,” said Norman as he tossed some money on the bar. It was a quiet gathering, a first Funeral for most. After some clock watching, the staff started to drift off. “Fuck man,” moaned Norman, “they were getting double time, dog, I don’t get it.” Just Patrick and B.A. stayed on for the afternoon session with, Doc, Norman and Betsy. “So that’s it then,” summed up Doc, “life’s a bitch then you die. Let’s get really drunk, blind drunk. Fuck that’s a terrible expression, reminds me of drunks in the park with meths and cider. I wrote to one of the big cider companies once, I was pissed off and suggested they use drunks in the park to advertise their cider. Never got a reply.” “I am surprised Doc,” responded Betsy, “don’t give up your day job.” “Boys and girls, lighten up, you English need to chill, let’s just have a nice drink,” suggested Patrick, “death’s a great leveller, it’s the only thing that makes life fair, everyone has to die.” “Here, here,” said Norman, adding a large Southern Comfort to his fruit juice as Betsy put a Laurel and Hardy video on the big screen. “Not much of a choice though in death, is there,” Doc asked the question. “Just two options, burnt or buried. In these times of great consumer choice, could be a market for offering new alternatives. I do think stuffing, like they do with animals, birds, even fish could be popular and then mounted on the wall. Hey Betsy that would suit you, from what Norman tells me. That would be like life after death for you girl.” He roared with laughter, causing all but Betsy to join him. “Bollocks,” she replied. Doc resumed, “At sea, should be made available for all those that can afford it and not just for the Navy. How about in space, the executive option, that’s pretty close to heaven. Recycling!” “You already got the donors option Doc,” answered Betsy in a hostile manner. “True, but, not a great take up rate. If it was re-marketed, you know rebranded even as recycling. The greens would all endorse it and it would be a free service of course, like glass, newspapers, shoes etc.” “So would we have body banks? I guess it’s no more bizarre than sperm banks,” added B.A.

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“Very good, want a job, come up and see me sometime young lady,” suggested Doc. “You know,” replied B.A. “After a bombing in my home town a fireman shouts out, he’s found the head of the bomber. How do you know he’s asked; still got his fingers in his ears, came the reply.” An embarrassing silence was broken by Doc, “A toast; lunchtime drinking.” They all raised their glasses; Betsy drew the curtains as the daylight was hitting the screen. The old film kept them well entertained; as soon as it finished Patrick and B.A. went off for some fresh air. Doc decided to leave with them, Betsy having locked the door turned to face Norman. “I’ve locked the door: drawn the curtains; you own my clothes; what’s next?” Norman stood up, “Not here, you’ve only had one drink, drive me to your apartment now.” “Sure if that’s what you want.” Their dress attracted passing glances as they left the pub, looking like they’d been out all night and then some. It was late afternoon as Norman pulled Betsy by the hand into the apartment. Her new funeral outfit was stunning in a sexual form and Norman was in no hurry to undress her. He walked on into the living area and poured them drinks, he lit himself a cigarette then sat at the dining table. She joined him now wearing her hat and veil, sharing his cigarette as she dropped her shoulder straps to reveal her breasts. She then dipped her fingers into his red wine and onto her nipples. Norman still wanted to be entertained and sat back watching her. She pulled her chair back from the table; her legs were now wide apart showing her stocking tops as she stroked her thighs. Norman breathed deeply as he noticed she was not wearing knickers, Betsy swigged her wine and lit her own cigarette with her other hand. “In your own time,” ordered Norman, “on the bed Betsy.” She finished her cigarette, topped up her wine then carried it over to the bed. There she lay in wait for her next order. Norman dimmed the lights, removed his jacket and unzipped his trousers before fucking her, face up, then face down. After their sensational climaxes, Norman walked off to the shower leaving Betsy sobbing in her mixed mental state of satisfaction and a sense of having been abused. She joined Norman and in silence they showered; then returned to the bed. This time they got under the duvet, they slept, her head on his chest, they were as one breathing life. An open window provided the perfect background sound. The day had exhausted the pair and they slept uninterrupted till daylight. Thursday they were on autopilot, reality not kicking in till darkness fell. Thursday night was to be the first of Doc’s latest brainstorms. He and Betsy had worked long and hard on planning this format. The evening would start

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with the audience getting up to do Comedy karaoke. Doc used this to save paying out for stand-ups, ‘Let the silly fuckers laugh at themselves and pay us for the privilege,’ he had said. “ Beckham bless those punters. ” Next would be a sketch, Doc and some of his crew including Betsy would read their very crude scripts in the old radio style, stood in a row, they had old fashioned microphones and sound effects. Following Doc’s announcement of an intermission to boost bar sales the night would continue with a spoof of a T.V. game show with members of the audience again be un-paid stooges. Doc would always play the game show host. ‘The audience even play the part of the audience,’ Doc boasted to his crew. The final part of these evening would be Rasta Man. “ If the night needs anything more, one of us can always jump up and do a stand-up job on them first, ” Doc told Norman and Betsy. “But I think Rasta can wind the night up and he’s got a few friends and family coming down, they’ll spend a few pounds and dance for free.” There was a good size crowd in quite early for this first of the new Thursdays. As Norman returned to the bar area from the office, he noticed Mr. Patel seated at the back flanked by two huge younger men. Opposite him sat an older man. They looked completely out of place and Doc had dimmed the lights in their corner thinking they could scare people off. Norman went over shaking hands with Mr. Patel then the other three after their introductions. He called over a waitress and instructed her to, “Keep this table happy all night at no charge.” The evening’s entertainment was kicked off with Doc welcoming all. He advised them that to save making this journey in future especially on cold nights like tonight they could, “Pay by Direct Debit, or even Internet Banking, details from behind the bar.” He then spent a few minutes insulting all manner of things and personnel before handing over to his pals to run the Karaoke. Norman watched Mr. Patel look on with interested disbelief. His eyes however wandered over to the tills and the newcomers as they arrived. Maybe Doc was right thought Norman perhaps Mr. Patel will be thinking of opening a Two Buttocks on every available street corner. The night ran like a dream, Mr. Patel was clearly impressed with the money being spent in the pub. Norman was kept busy managing the event and Doc’s entertainment was a great success. Rasta was able to close down the show. Mr. Patel was whisked away by his minders at the close; Norman knew he would return the following night. Betsy was on a real high on the way home that night. Norman was seeing another side of his lady. She was so excited at the success of the Thursday night. “I had a lot of input on this night, you know,” she said proudly, “not

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that I will get any credit. Doc will write up the critique, staple two fifty pound notes to it and send it off to his mate.” Once inside the apartment she slipped into a deep depression. Norman kept his distance as he only liked the simple things in life. The king-size bed provided them with their own spaces that night. Norman read his book, getting up to meditate for a while Zazen style. Doc was to continue his old Friday format into this year, ‘We only have to open the fucking doors on Friday nights,’ being his philosophy. It was a hecklers paradise, audition night, with Doc pulling them off with a long hooked stick as and when it was funniest. A pro. would finish off the night. Norman prepared from mid-morning having left Betsy in bed. Doc sat in the office, a coffee maker bubbled away in the background. On the desk sat a huge sixties table cigarette lighter. Beside his leather swivel chair a floor standing cylinder ashtray. Massive posters of Doc’s favourite comedians were stapled onto the walls; Groucho Marx, Woody Allen and Charlie Chaplin. He received a call for Paddy which he switched through to Norman in the bar. “Is Paddy there or not,” croaked the caller. “He’s on holiday, I’m Norman his barman can I help you.” “Yeah, how much booze you want this weekend.” “We have had our delivery yesterday.” “That’s the Brewery one, Paddy gets a top up from me, on Saturday mornings.” “Does he, O.K. I don’t know how much to order though.” “Don’t worry son, I’ll just bring the usual. See you 6 a.m. on the dot, its C.O.D. mind.” “Sure, see you mate.” Norman phoned Mr. Patel straight after to relay the whole story. “That’s fine,” Mr.Patel assured him, “this helps to complete our accounts jigsaw puzzle my boy. You say stocks were looking low from the brewery. Paddy was getting a top up on Saturdays; cash on delivery of course. Tell the guy this will be his last delivery, give him my number if it helps, I’ll deal with it and you order the extra from the Brewery next week.” Betsy had joined Doc in the office and was soon busy on the computer. Norman gave her a hug as he poured the coffee. “Once I have sorted out my stuff here I’m back to the apartment for a lazy afternoon,” he announced. Soon after, he was doing just that. Having travelled home on a bus. Once in the apartment after a long shower he played his only C.D. Astral Weeks. He

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loved the double bass sound. He had owned various guitars as a teenager, even playing bass in a local band, ‘False-Start.’ Betsy returned by car in time to cook them an early evening snack. “Jacket potatoes O.K. with you Norman,” she shouted over the top of his continuous playing C.D. “And who’s strangling that cat.” He nodded. They taxied back to the Two Buttocks just after seven. Doc was still there eating fish and chips with some of his helpers. Norman’s return signalled it was nearly opening time. The phone was ringing, “I’ll get it, you guys just sit there,” he said. “Doc it’s your wife.” Doc strolled over to take the call. He hung-up and walked towards Norman. In a loud voice for all to hear he addressed him, “One of my children has been admitted to hospital, I must go now. Please cover for me Norman, see you.” Norman nodded as he watched Doc leave. Then followed him outside, “If I can help just call me on the mobile.” Doc hailed a passing black cab. Norman returned to join the others. Betsy pulled him away and into the office. “You O.K. Norman, you look as white as a ghost.” “Funny you should ask me that, in the last two minutes I have discovered Doc is off tonight. Am I O.K.? No not really, still the show must go on.” He kissed her on the lips then carried on as if nothing had happened. Back in the bar he addressed Doc’s crew. “ Oh yeah, oh yeah, you all know Doc has a trauma to attend to, let’s all jump in and plug the gaps, thanks and be careful out there.” The doors were opened by Lottery Lenny, keen to be back on Friday night duty. Mr. Patel and Co. were first in. Norman spotted them, he introduced them to Lenny, “No charge,” he explained. They headed for the same table as the previous night. Norman signalled their waitress; he then changed up a gear, the night was to be a real challenge for him. When the audience were looking ready for some action Norman strolled out onto the stage. He made eye contact with Mr. Patel. “Are you ready to rumble,” he yelled. The crowd screamed their delight. Norman had great stage presence and his cabaret style black suit, frilled shirt, bow tie and highly polished patent leather shoes added to the send up. “Welcome back to our new season of Friday nights, we will continue to drag the barrel to bring you the very best of the very worst. Here at comedy direct we guarantee you more laughs for your money, how do we do it? It’s easy, our highly trained staff bring you jokes direct, why pay comedians, no, we cut out the middle man, so you the public can take advantage of huge savings on all our jokes, this offer is subject to status. Lola dear, bring on our first contestant.” A very attractive helper of Doc’s brought on the first act. Doc’s crew would www.bibliotastic.com

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run the show now; Norman would only return to introduce Mickey Finn, to finish off the night. Mr. Patel looked bemused his eyes blinked with each admission and ring of the tills. “He looks like a human calculator,” Norman remarked to Betsy. She nodded then responded to a barmaid calling her. Norman went off to chat to Lenny at the front door. The evening was yet another great success with Lenny having to turn away dozens. Mr. Patel was aware of this and seemed to find it extremely painful his face revealed. He did seem amused however as Doc’s extras dressed in white coats yanked the auditions off the stage when their time was up. As the prop clock struck midnight, Norman took control again. Stood centre stage a cigarette in one hand, bottle of Newcastle brown in the other. He addressed the now intoxicated crowd, “It is the time, we are to be visited, we have waited long, toiled hard and now we are to be rewarded, he will make us happy again, we shall be free to laugh. Bow your heads to Mickey Finn. ” Mickey walked out on his hands, fell upright, and straightened his suit up. He was similar in many ways to Norman Wisdom. He gazed out at the crowd, “If my poor Gran could see you lot. This used to be a decent old boozer. Not the sort of pub where you would swear in the presence of a lady, no change there then. ” He studied the ladies in the crowd. “Did you all have a nice Xmas, cause I aint seen you since then ‘ave I, tele was right poxy again. Now Only Fools And Orses, I know, I know it’s more serious to knock that than the Royals, but what a load of bollocks. Shame on you B.B.C. still that documentary on Boxing Day wasn’t bad, about an office in Slough. Strange putting a documentary on prime time viewing though, that geezer David Brent, some childhood he must have had. Thought I was fucking screwed up, reality TV. it’s taking over. I sent in an idea, Bone Idle. Do you notice now how all these soapsuds I mean stars that are killed off suddenly pop up in another one; soap opera that is. I guess there’s fuck all else they can do with them really. I’d like to see Jack and Vera turn up as long lost relatives of the Dingles in Emerdale, no need for a costume change, classic or what!” Norman and Betsy were busy cashing up, they could both hear Mickey was not at his best. “I see Mickey is not wasting any good stuff tonight,” said Betsy. “No need on a Friday really.” “Doc. will not be amused when he hears the tape.”

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Norman nodded his agreement; he noticed Mr. Patel and friends leaving. They all waved. Mickey waved and shouted too, unknown to Norman he knew Mr. Patel from using his restaurant. “I’ll be round yours in a minute, Mr. P. Table for two please, not too near the bog.” Mr. Patel laughed then shouted back, “Get on with your work Mickey.” He did, knocking out a cockney medley on the piano. “Bungalow Bill would call this last night of the whinging fucking poms,” he added between verses. Land of Hope and Glory was too much for Betsy. She cracked, “These Friday nights are the fucking pits Norman.” Back in the office they worked hard sorting the money into hundreds, then thousands. “Look Betsy, see all this money. The people rule. Out there they have had a great night, who are we to tell them they should have gone to the Opera.” “I’m still going to have a chat to Doc about Fridays; we should set a standard.” The pair wasted no time in clearing the crowd out of the Venue, cleaning and locking up. Norman had remembered his 6 o’clock booze delivery in the morning but he had not told Betsy. Once home they had no conversation before they slept. After what seemed liked no time, Norman’s watch alarm buzzed. He slipped out of bed. In the hallway he used the phone pad to scribble a note to Betsy. ‘Forgot to tap beer for tonight, couldn’t sleep, back soon, P.S. borrowed your bike.’ On his first bike ride since school days and with no lights, he looked suicidal as he crossed Tower Bridge and then headed East. He arrived in good time at the pub. There came a knock on the doors, outside stood Lottery Lenny and his Nephew also named Lenny, after him. They looked like Father and Son, a popular rumour and cause for many jokes at McNaughton’s Brewery over the years. “Got your booze ere guv,” growled Lenny junior, as he pointed to his old battered truck. “Lottery Lenny, you could have told me, you supply Paddy with booze.” “Yeah I kept meaning to Norman, sorry to get you up this early Boss. Paddy likes it this time, quiet and dark you see, well it’s still his pub aint it.” “Yes it’s still his pub Lenny, let’s get you unloaded; but this will be the last time.”

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“Rolling Stones, this will be the last time,” sang Lenny. Then the two men threw their tax free booze off the truck and down into the pub cellar, looking and smelling like performing circus bears; before receiving their rewards as Norman paid Lenny junior the cash. “He brings it over himself you see,” said Lottery Lenny, looking a proud man. “We can’t hang around for a cup of tea, see-yu tonight.” Norman was soon crossing over Tower Bridge on his way back to bed. In the flat Betsy was still asleep; he ripped up the note he had left her. The pair awoke just after ten. Betsy headed off to the shower. “These hard weekends are no good for our sex life Norman,” she complained on her way, “have to wait till Monday now.” By mid-day the Two Buttocks was over run with various work activities. Norman managed to reach Doc on his mobile. He was already on his way, “My daughter’s fine,” he advised the anxious Norman. They all greeted him as he rushed into the bar. “It’s Saturday folks,” announced Doc, “We have to compete Saturdays, so let’s get serious and be professional. We got Harry Shagman, Betsy Norfolk, Zen Warwickshire and the Spin Doctor plus full supporting cast.” Norman, Betsy and Doc would spend the whole day on site now. The others would come and go. Betsy collected fish suppers at 6 o’clock. They relaxed in their easy chairs in the office. Doc was still busy on the phone as he had many of his acts out that night at other venues. By 8 o’clock there were enough staff to open on time. Norman had a reserved sign on the table for Mr. Patel and co. Shortly after eight they arrived. Norman joined them for a few minutes. “This place should be re-named the Royal Mint,” insisted Mr. Patel as the Two Buttocks started filling up with a typical looking Saturday crowd. Doc now on great form and dressed like the Artful Dodger kept jumping up on the stage, looking out at the crowd and shouting out at Mr. Patel as if he was Fagin, “Plenty of pockets to pick here tonight.” Norman wasn’t that sure about this idea. Mr. Patel seem to be up to it though, he was laughing all the way to the bank, thought Doc as he picked his moment to get the show going, bringing on his female double act, ‘Sharon and Tracey,’ the Essex girls. They chatted away to each other as if there was no audience. “That Gary nearly fucked my brains out last night, Sha.” “Just a quickie then was it.” “Yeah, ‘ow did you know.” “What is white Gary or black Gary, Trace?” “I dunno, it was dark in that car-park Sha.” www.bibliotastic.com

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“What car-park, Trace?” “The one behind the Disco Sha.” “Oh that’ll be white Gary then Trace.” Betsy moved around in front of the stage to take some photos of them for Doc; she was the only one bright enough to work the camera. The girls were getting the evening off to great start; it all went over the head of Mr. Patel and his companions, so they chatted amongst themselves. Next up was the first of six, five-minute stand-up spots. Most being the best from Friday nights at the various venues that Doc had an interest in. Betsy was to close this first part. She chose the stripper, as her entrance music. The crowd loved it and responded as if they were about to get a striptease. This gave Betsy the lead into her routine. “I see we got some West-Ham supporters in tonight, and you friggin Doctors should be ashamed. All the naked women you see and you still want more. Not that you’d get to see a body like mine on the National Health. So here we are back again, it’s Saturday night at The Two Buttocks, live from The Two Buttocks on Saturday night. Thank fucking Beckham Xmas is over. I hate all that bullshit. Xmas day in my flat there’s only one bird that gets a good stuffing, me that’s fucking right ladies it’s ‘Beautiful’ as we say in Norfolk. Now I know I should grow up and some times I really do fantasise about having a proper family Xmas. I’m in the kitchen cooking and my husband is outside with our young children. He is helping them ride on their bright shiny new Xmas bikes. I wave to him as he turns and faces the window. He leaves the children playing in the busy main road and rushes back into the house and into the kitchen clutching a can of WD40 he collected from the double garage on his way, then he throws me face forward over the table, scattering the mince pies all over the floor. The turkey is sitting beside me on the table waiting to be stuffed in its gaping rear end, and my husband still wearing the new cardigan my mother knitted him for Xmas chooses me, drops his undercarriage and shags me like I’m his secretary at the office party. I guess that’s what’s meant by, ‘Behind every successful Woman is a Man.’ Yes you see ladies I have got a maternal side after all.” She waved and blew kisses. “I’ll be back, there’s much much much more to come, so stick around, pour yourself a drink why the fuck not it is Saturday. I’m going to slip into something more comfortable, tarrah chuck.” Norman applauded loudly, short and sweet he thought to himself, why not. Doc had chosen some bizarre interval music as usual, old musicals being the night’s theme. So as The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music blasted out of the Fiasco, Norman stepped outside for some fresh air. www.bibliotastic.com

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He and Lenny lit up cigarettes. “Full moon tonight,” pointed out Lenny. “ Maybe I’ve won the Lottery. I’ll work the night out anyway.” Both men were still laughing when from out of the moonlight stepped a tall figure, walking towards them slowly. The stranger stopped short of being recognised, he shouted over at Norman, “Hay big fella, know where a man can get a drink, a bite to eat and a bed for the night.”

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Chapter Eleven - Hello Sailor

“Chris Mason, you fucking great tart,” shouted Norman as he started walking towards his best mate. The men warmly shook hands and embraced before returning to the pub. Norman introduced Chris to Lenny before going back inside. Chris looked around in wide eyed amazement. Norman ordered their drinks; they toasted “The not so New Year.” Mr. Patel passed by, “Norman,” he whispered, “we must go now. Saturday night, is poker night, not dancing you understand. ” He laughed and patted Norman on the shoulder. “You are so busy in here again, incredible really. I will look in on you again tomorrow my boy, take care.” Norman and Chris continued their reunion they were back together again and it felt good. “But where’s your gear man,” asked Norman. “Ah, well, I called for you, where your E-mail said.” “What, the house?” “Yeah, Ernest and Katie took me in and gave me your room.” “Why?” “I just told them I was your best school mate, back from the Navy, they presumed the Royal. So they start treating me like a fucking war hero man. I couldn’t get a fucking word in edgeways. It’s like weird. They wanted to take me round to their local to introduce me to all their friends, me the war hero! I‘ve even been invited to their Birthday bash at the Prince of Wales tomorrow, did you know their birthdays are on the same fucking day man. Weird or what! They’re the same age and all. They look like brother and sister to me, twins are they? Oh yeah they said to bring you along. Help me man, get me out of there. Beam me up Norman.” “I hear you Chris, you can come back with Betsy and me tonight.” “You and Betsy! What sort of perverted world are you living in here Norman.” “It’s just London Chris, you’ll soon get used to it.” “Thank you, oh thank you Master, I am not worthy.” Norman ruffled up Chris’ hair. “Look let’s go and grab Mr. Patel’s table, I’ll get Betsy over to meet you.” Norman got Chris settled then went off in search of her. Doc somewhat www.bibliotastic.com

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curious by now went over and introduced himself to Chris. Norman and Betsy soon joined them. The four chatted away at 100 miles an hour, they laughed together when Norman explained how Ernest and Katie thought Chris was a war hero. Betsy said she was O.K. about him staying in the apartment. Norman managed to convince Doc that with Chris the war hero coming home, it would be very rude not to look after him. “Did he meet Colin the Destroyer?” enquired Doc before he excused Norman a full routine in return for some comparing. Doc and Betsy went back to work. Norman and Chris were well into catch-up when Betsy returned to their table, she whispered, “Norm, give Doc a great big intro now, please.” Norman got up ready for business. Once on the stage the audience slowly took notice and a silence fell. He spoke, “I came up here for something you know, what the fuck was it, I hate it when that happens don’t you? Oh yeah, to introduce the next act of course. But while I’m here, just a thought. I’d like to confide in you if I may, it’s older women, well old women really. I’ve just started to notice them. Well I reckon they’d be grateful for it, at least. You can easily imagine that with my great Gatsby looks and outstanding physique young ladies throw themselves at me. It is an occupational hazard, we call them loonies, girls that hang around the stage door of Comedy Venues. Women of easy virtue, it’s so shallow, I always feel ashamed afterwards. Go on fucking laugh, pervert. Anyway as I was saying, Women, I’ve tried the younger post Thatcher types, modern girl, nine to five. I feel a song coming on. But they read all those fucking magazines and I mean fucking magazines. 100 pleasures to demand from your man, I hope one of them involves shagging at least, perhaps not. It’s natural for Christ sake. When ever, did any guy spend all night plying some female with free booze, to take her home and suck her toes I ask you! No way, so let’s think ancient, it’s not all lying in ruins you know. Joan Collins Could you? Would you? You would mate you’re older than her anyway. Seriously, so I tried this old one out, it was great she was a Nurse, I don’t think she’s in tonight, nope, good” The hospital crowd responded with loud applause and whistles, Norman continued, “Not a great looker, but built like a hospital tea trolley and yes, she was desperate and grateful. You can get these magazines you know, oldies at it, these are no calendar girls believe me, there’s one called Gums. Doc loaned it to me. That reminds me, sorry to waffle on, please oh loyal and unruly crowd, give a Two Buttocks welcome to the one and only Spin Doctor.” Doc made his entrance. He was wearing a sandwich board on which was written, The End Is Nigh. He was dressed in an old black suit and Vicars Collar. After he removed the board he started to spout a sermon of his

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religious humour. Norman had returned to sit with Chris, they half listened to Doc as he ranted and raved. But their conversation took priority. “You were good Norman I’d like to see you do longer.” “You will.” “Zen Warwickshire, why?” “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” “So when do you make it big Zen.” “Should be this year, if at all.” “You need a road manager?” “Need a road first.” “Sure, want another drink?” “Does the Pope have a balcony?” “Not for much longer, but I’ll get you a beer anyway.” Chris set off to the bar; Norman turned his attention to Doc on stage who was struggling a bit. Norman had an idea so he stood up and shouted it out. “Can you heal me please?” Doc replied, “No but I know a man who can, Oh Beckham. What is it that ails you my son?” “I can’t get an erection.” “I want everyone to hold hands and concentrate on this poor mans penis.” One drunken section of the crowd responded as Doc continued. “Think hard all of you, young man can you feel it, can you feel the power of thought on your penis, Oh Beckham.” “Oh yes,” screamed Norman. “Then let it rise,” shouted Doc. “It is, hallelujah, it’s a miracle, I’ve got a hard on, oh thank you Beckham, thank you.” Screamed Norman as he grabbed his crotch. “Now you all have seen the power of The Two Buttocks, those gathered here when the end comes will be saved.” said Doc as he put his sandwich board back on and walked off the stage. The lights dimmed as the crowd burst into great laughter and applause. Chris arrived back with the drinks, he had been watching from the bar. “You www.bibliotastic.com

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guys are fucking crazy,” he said as he slumped into his chair shaking his head in disbelief. “So what’s next, I’m ready for almost anything.” Chris didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Betsy walked straight out onto the stage to follow on from Doc. “Don’t get too friggin excited you lot,” she shouted. “I’m not here to introduce the next act; I’m it. No expense spared here tonight. Sharon and Tracy have asked me to remind you their new Poncey Sisters C D is on sale behind the bar. It’s a double A side, I shagged the sheriff and Gary, plus sisters are doing it to themselves. I see a few of you made the sales last month, only just though. Is that a stain or a motif on that Fruit Of The Womb top love, you shouldn’t have bought that, no matter how cheap it was; oh I see it says Nil By Mouth. You’re out of luck tonight then mate. You can pop round and see me in the morning, I like bite size for breakfast. I went to the January sales; as you do, for the first time I should mention. Well I had to; fucking Minimum Wage. Any way I saw a sign, shoes, buy one get one free, yeah really. Brent Cross, it’s like being in the reception area of a large hotel being used for a United Nations Conference; apart from the smell of soiled nappies of course. O.K. wait for it, now what I really, really, really hate about shopping centres is, got your pens ready? Attractive young female sales assistants for a start; music that attractive young female sales assistants like; shops decorated in a style that attractive young female sales assistants like; attractive young female shoppers that attractive young sales assistants hate. Woof-woof got that off me chest. What do you mean what chest you cheeky tosspot, remember any more than a handful is a waste. Have you noticed the stores all try to out do each other on the attractive young female shop assistants, they try to seduce the men into enjoying the sexual scenery while their wives take forever buying something they’ll never wear. They take the size into the changing rooms that they wish they were and don’t even bother to try it on; now this is real sad the double bluff. They announce to anyone that is interested, ha, ha, ha, that they can see it fits so well there’s no need to try it on. Then, encouraged by their other half who by now is so fucking horny undressing with his eyes, yes you got it, attractive young female shop assistants and he’s now desperate to get the wife back home. Soooooooooooo, he can give her a good shagging with the light off and pretend, yes you got it she’s an attractive young female shop assistant. Sex makes the World go round. But hey, O.K. her new friggin dress doesn’t fit, but look on the positive, at least she gets shagged twice in January this Year and somebody in the third world gets a new dress.

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You lot are putty in my hands, stop laughing, save some for the other acts please. Getting back to the shopping, as a virgin, one thing that gets my old goat going, mums and their fucking prams. Why take the kids, these were the girls at school that liked the obstacle race, weird or what. They couldn’t run fast enough not to get pregnant, now they want to show off that their tubes work. Like it’s a big deal, like anybody friggin cares. Do you know Chinese tennis players give birth between sets! Yeah really. What I can’t resist is to get chatting to the mum that looks just a little too smug, drool over her child with her and then announce I can’t have children myself. Then watch the look of guilt come up on her face before I say ‘Only Joking. ’ I do like children though, but I couldn’t eat a whole one, not on my own anyway. Single mums, what exactly are single mums? All mums look single to me unless they’re joined at the hip to their other half and that would have been a logistical nightmare. Do you know that most single mums live with a bloke and they still call themselves single mums, it’s like some terminal disease, you get told you got it till you die, it’s the same with single mums, the Doctor tells them they are a single mum and they think they got it till they die. Now we got men on their own, pushing friggin prams round. What’s that all about? Someone please tell me. You can’t trust the bastards I know that, they’re all on the pull. ‘You can trust me, I’m a single Father. ’ Yeah like fuck mate, where is the wife today? However of course he might just be single, perhaps his wife died, I think I’d think feel safer if she was still alive. Well you can’t be to careful girls, you can read some terrible things these days; I make a point of it. Mind you I can’t get hold of a copy of that sex offenders list anywhere, even at the local library. Date rape, I’ve done that a few times, I’ve had too. I tell ‘em ‘You give me a good shagging mate or I’ll set off my personal attack alarm.’ Well a girl’s got her reputation to think about. The word gets out you’re not a goer and bang goes all your free nights out and it’s not cheap going out these days you know. Unless you come down here I suppose, so I guess most of you girls have failed to comply with the old C.O.D. Well I could talk the knob off a donkey, but I won’t, anyway enough of this girls chit chat I’m off to chain myself to some railings, it’s not that I’m a feminist it’s just the way I like my sex. See you soon, Beckham bless you.” Betsy got a deafening applause as she rushed off backstage. Norman and Chris cheered as they toasted her good health. The D.J. unscripted played some old rock’n-roll and a few in the crowd started to dance; Doc joined Norman and Chris at their table. It was just over half an hour before Betsy joined the three having. She had needed to phone her parents. “I’d like to do the final intro” she shouted. www.bibliotastic.com

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Doc just shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t care.” Betsy returned to the stage, “It is time now for some male perspective on the World, shouldn’t be hard as they rule the fucking place, a huge Two Buttocks welcome if you please girls and boys for tonight’s international star Mr. Harry Shagman.” The men in the audience cheered as the ladies booed. Harry waved his large Stetson hat in the air in appreciation of his reception. After a couple of minutes he managed to quieten the crowd down. “Ladies, ladies don’t show yourselves up please, a drunken woman is not a pretty site. At least in Texas, the ladies know their place. Here in London, well I find things a little liberal for my liking. In fact guys, I kindah think you have given the ladies a bit too much slack on the old reins there. Need to pull em in a bit, show em the whip and when they start to behave a lump of sugar, so to speak. Take Mrs. Shagman for example, a simple woman, goes without saying of course. A good wife and mother to our seven children, however there have been times, when I have had to remind her of those marital duties in the bedroom. Yes, I have found dust on the window ledge. Sue Ellen, I said if I wanted to live in a pigsty I’d have married one of those liberal English women. Mrs.Shagman comes from prime Texas female stock you see. In the old days I’d only have to look at her in a certain way and she’d calf. But it took its toll; she’s a big old gal now, a real handful, quite a challenge really. Some nights I stand out on the porch with my brandy and cigar, aware that Mrs.Shagman is in the bedroom awaiting her last duty of the day and I think to myself, oh Lord give me the strength to get through this, to climb the mountain called love. Well I go upstairs and you know I hear her snoring, the good Lord has answered my prayers, he moves in mysterious ways friends. I feel a song coming on. I reckon making love is for youngsters, sex is for the elderly. But you know women don’t seem to be aware of this. I have a sexual arrangement with a young lady at the office. It still works fine, if you know what I mean, but Mrs.Shagman, now she’s a bit, well old-fashioned. A great believer in the missionary position. When you get to my age the masonry position is a much more exciting pro-position. Yep, two minutes up against a wall in the poor part of town sure beats the hell out of a marathon in pink silk sheets at South Fuck. But ladies, I wouldn’t want you’ll to get the wrong idea here, not that you should be listening into men’s’ business anyway; I am considered liberal myself in Texas by many of the old boys, oh yes sir, you bet, sure thing, indeedy. Take the other day for example I allowed Mrs.Shagman to be the first lady within her social group to purchase a vibrating penis, on the

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condition of course that it be a white one. Therefore now when I am away on a business trip she can, whilst thinking about me of course, take care of ladies business. Therefore avoiding the desperate measures taken by some of her group, resulting in some cases in divorce, sexually transmitted diseases and even multiple orgasms a most un-natural act if you ask me. So you see my friends, what might seem a liberal gesture on my behalf could indeed save my family. Well, no good getting older unless you get wiser. ” Betsy, Doc, Norman and Chris studied the big American, “This guys good,” commented Chris to the others. “Oh yeah, he’s found an easy niche to crawl about in,” shouted Betsy as Harry got a loud audience response with his, “If you aint for me, you’re again me,” routine. “I think some of your Women folk need a good horse whipping fellas, tonight.” “Should be on the Royal Variety Show, old Harry boy,” joked Doc. “So should my friggin Father, they got a lot in common,” responded Betsy in an acid tone. “Comedy is a very nasty business, these days,” added Norman. “If you can’t take it you shouldn’t give it out, Zen says.” “Another drink! One for the gutter anybody?” asked Chris as he fumbled with a huge clip of bank notes. “Yes please sailor,” answered up Betsy. The others nodded their acceptances as they watched Harry dig himself an even deeper hole with the ladies in the crowd and Betsy. Norman called over a waiter to take their order, “Well why not,” he told Chris. “ I am the boss.” Doc noted Harry was going well over his usual length of stand-up. “He’s enjoying winding the crowd up to night, he’ll have to start writing new stuff soon,” said Betsy in a mocking tone. Harry informed the men in the crowd, ‘That he had never yet needed to take his boots off whilst making love to a real Lady. He reckoned that the sound of the spurs rattling got them pretty dam excited. Then confessed though that sometimes he does take his hat off.’ “That’s where the old expression comes from,” he added, “I’ll take my hat off to that little Lady.” The waiter arrived with their drinks. Chris proposed a toast, “To men behaving boldly, Texas and Harry Shagman.” Betsy’s glass was absent from the toast. Harry gave the queue and the theme tune to Dallas roared through the Fiasco. He did his usual stepping down to shake hands with carefully selected applauding males. Still with his microphone working he announced, “Ladies, Ladies please be patient if there is time I will get round to meeting

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some of you too. Or you can visit me on my web site, that’s www.shagharryplease.com.” With that as his final line he sloped off into the darkness at the side of the stage and made his way to the office; Doc was there to meet him. Harry was a no nonsense guy he would be paid and then slip out of the nearest door; Doc returned to join the others. This was the time Doc, Betsy and Norman liked the best of every working night. They welcomed Chris into their perfect time with drinks on the house. The D.J. finished the night off well, he had a knack of getting the music just right for the crowd, with a little help from Doc of course. Lenny after checking with his pocket-watch and Norman started to clear a few glasses off the tables, this showed the crowd it was getting near to, “Going home time,” as he called it. Norman got up to add a bit of support. Doc, Betsy and Chris were settled in for the night. The staff were busy putting customers into their taxis as Norman re-joined his friends. Lenny escorted the final few to the door before he shouted his farewells to all. The staff set themselves up at the table next to their bosses. Friendly verbal exchanges soon started up. “Well Norman, how much money have we taken for you tonight,” said Patrick. “What night is it Patrick?” asked Doc. “Saturday?” he replied. “Yes Patrick Saturday and we tell the jokes on Saturday, but you can pour the drinks, mines a large one.” Patrick smiled as he set about producing drinks all round. “On the house,” called out Betsy. “Whose house?” asked Patrick. “Our house is in the middle of our street, ah-ha,” sang Doc, Norman, Betsy and Chris. Great laughter and noise broke out and continued as another party headed into the early hours. Staff taxis turned up from time to time, Doc was the last to leave as Norman, Betsy and Chris were trying to solve the problems of the World. The three would have drunk till daylight had the pub temperature not dropped to nearly freezing. Their tiredness came on as they taxied over to the apartment and they were silenced. Their return was so late that the heating was off; Betsy quickly produced a sleeping bag for Chris to bed down on a sofa, she and Norman sought the comfort of the king-size. Moments later they were all asleep. www.bibliotastic.com

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Neither Norman nor Betsy had mentioned to Chris the apartment was on a wharf, where high tide came up to the window ledges. He was sleeping on the sofa facing the windows; it was his first night off the ship. Daylight had just arrived but had not disturbed the three. Suddenly Norman and Betsy were woken by Chris stood in the middle of the apartment in his underwear mortified, he was shouting, “ship along side, ship along side. Sound the alarm.” The situation got worse as Betsy had got up through the night and put a white face pack on. With her and Norman now both stood up on the bed, Chris managed to turn his head round to face them. Added to the noisy barge he had just seen at the windows he could now see what seemed to be a very tall ghost standing beside someone he had been at school with. He was now in such a mess, his mind unable to put the scene into perspective, he dropped to the floor calling for his Mother. Norman rushed over, the barge headed off back out into the Thames. Betsy went off to the bathroom to remove her face pack. It was a slow process but Norman managed to talk Chris back to reality. Betsy joined them with coffees, cigarettes and an explanation. “It’s the River Police Barge, they check the wharf out.” explained Betsy, “that’s all.” “I didn’t know this apartment was by the fucking sea,” replied Chris. “Not the sea, the River man, it’s London, you know! the River Thames?” added Norman. “I do now. I’ve sailed the fucking World without fear and I come to London and get the crap scared out of me.” Replied Chris. “It’s the booze man, you lost it. You woke up and didn’t know where you were. Well it is your first night off the ship. This is so fucking funny man,” shouted Norman. Betsy was already laughing. Chris jumped up running over to their bed he grabbed a pillow, returning to attack. Betsy gave him the slip she made it back to the bed picking up two pillows. “Norman, Norman catch,” she shouted, he managed to side step Chris to catch the pillow and enter into a three-way fight. After a couple of minutes and three spilled coffees they all submitted. Norman re-boiled the kettle for replacement coffees. They now mellowed on the sofas, Norman and Betsy feeling relaxed and good humoured, Chris still recovering from his traumatic experience. They stayed awake and drifted on into Norman’s idea of microwave pizza for breakfast. Betsy could only avoid this by taking off on her bike. The two men eat, drank and smoked for a while before nodding off again. Norman had made Chris promise he would remember where he was. “I can’t go through that again,” he exclaimed.

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“You can’t, what about me!” Chris pleaded, “I might start bed wetting.” At mid-day they were woken by the ringing of the telephone, Norman being the only one able to find it answered. It was Betsy she had called on a friend and would not return for a while; that night she was doing a stand-up at The Micro-Wave for Doc. Chris seemed pleased with this news, he had some ideas for Norman’s ears only. It was time for Chris to find his way round the apartment, he made a fresh brew of coffee. “Phew, some night that,” he gasped as he lit up his cigarette with the help of the cooker. “Worth it though,” sighed Norman. “Sure, always is.” “Got to do it all over again tonight.” “That’s a long way off man, just relax.” “I have to go in and sort the bar out first.” “I’ll help you, it’ll take no time.” “Thanks, I accept your offer.” “My gear is at your Uncles.” “I’ll pop round early evening, pick it up, they’ll understand.” “You could say, President Bush has sent for me, few loose ends to tie up.” “Or I could tell them the truth.” “No don’t; they think by putting me up they’re were doing their bit towards the war.” “Fucking great! well I’ll deal with it anyway.” “So I can stay here till my ship sails.” “Yeah sure, now you sit tight cause I am off to shower myself back to life.” With Norman out of the room, Chris fumbled through his jacket to find his mobile phone. He was soon phoning around till he tracked down his mate Eddie. “Hi Eddie, Chris here, bad line, what you up to you dirty dog.” “What you’d expect really, I’m in an opium den , like the one in that film with De Niro.”

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“You wish dog.” “O.K. I’m at my parents, in the bathroom, I’m bleaching my hair, should look great with some gel on. The wrinklies are in the lounge watching bowls on the wide screen and discussing laminated flooring. Get me out of here.” “Sure that’s why I’m calling. I want you to come over for tonight, check my mate out for the cruise. I watched him last night; he’s a good stand-up comedian and would be a great asset to our social lives, a bit of a babe magnet.” “Sounds great, but where are you?” “Here, but where are you?” “Here, Newbury-on- boredom of course.” “Oh your folks, I remember, phone me your train time and I’ll meet you at Paddington.” “Cheers you just saved my life, what’s your mate’s name?” “Zen Warwickshire.” “You’re fucking joking I hope.” “You can call him Norman.” “That’s better, Eddie and out.” Chris put his phone away as Norman walked back into the room. “ You feeling better?” “Yes sure man, poor me a coffee please.” “Norman, I have an idea to run by you.” “You need my advice?” “Not as such, no, it concerns you or it could do.” “Shoot then dog. You put sugar in this? ” “I couldn’t be bothered.” “Good, so your idea was?” “It’s like this Norman, you know when you E-mailed me, you said.” “Oh yes, I know what I said, so what.” “Well I pulled a few strings and if you want, there’s a job.” “Really, doing what? Or should I ask.”

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“Of course, would I drop you in it? It’s entertainment man.” “Entertainment!” “That’s it, money for old jokes.” “That was funny, I might use that.” “Feel free, O.K. my mate Eddie he’s sort of entertainment manager, on the ship.” “Sort of!” “Well, the last guy left, well fell overboard actually he was pissed as a newt, but couldn’t swim like one and they never got round to replacing him. So Eddie became manager by default. He doesn’t get the going rate though, but he’s happy just being the boss it’s a fucking doddle. I have to work, he has to play. Anyway he can give you the cruise. What do you say? ” “I don’t know.” “Thanks you little darling, might be a good start.” “Thanks you little darling, but.” “Ah the big but, Betsy, we got enough girls on board, you can leave her home.” “It’s her home.” “Better still, now what’s the but?” “But when do we sail?” “That a boy, next Thursday.” “Just like that!” “Just like that.” “I don’t know what I’d say to Betsy.” “Just tell her the truth.” “I can’t do that.” “Better still, tell her a lie. You’re going to work for the Red Cross in Afghanistan.” “I can’t do that.” “Africa!” “No, I’ll sleep on it.”

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“But you’re up for it?” “Yes, yes, yes.” “This might help. Eddie is coming up to meet you tonight. Call it an interview or audition if you like. Though the jobs yours already. I’m going to bring him over to the pub. Now you let him kip on the other sofa tonight, we’ll have a few beers, game of cards. Betsy will be disturbed even annoyed I guess if you don’t check it with her first. She’ll be glad to see the back of you mate on Thursday. She’ll realise you were still one of the lads at heart and it’s her that’s having the lucky escape. While you’re sailing away she’ll be busy changing the door locks, maybe even moving, going into hiding or shagging Patrick.” “O.K. enough, I get the big picture thank you, I’m drumming up some bad Karma here.” “You just worry about this life; so now we’re sorted.” “Seems so, I need to get over and start work, I’ll take a rain-check on your offer to help. Slam the door behind you if Betsy is not back when you go to pick up Eddie. See you later on.” Chris smiled as Norman set off, “The deal is done,” he said to himself wandering round the living space. “I should be a salesman. Mind you I am saving this guy from this hamster-wheel life and wife! Not that I expect any thanks. This is nice though, very nice, too fucking nice, I don’t like nice.” He picked up a pair of Betsy’s Knickers laid on the bed, “This is not nice,” he threw them back down. His phone rang, he answered, “Yo, Eddie what news?” “Seven sound good?” “You got it. Be wearing a frown, cause I’ll be late, cheers.” Chris returned to his chair, he had some time to kill. After discovering the big screen he watched some television, channel hopping till he settled on some extreme sports. He dozed off. The front door slamming close awoke him, it was Betsy. She was friendly, putting the kettle on for a fresh brew. They drank their coffee together. Chris explained he had to go and meet a shipmate at the station. He was drawn into a conversation with Betsy that he had not bargained for. Oh the web we weave, he thought. He breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away from the apartment. Then decided, still with time to kill to check out the area would be a reasonable way to loose an hour and consider his conversation with Betsy. He walked through to Tower Bridge, the day was dark the Bridge lights reminded him of life at sea. He wandered into the shopping area and gazed at the luxury apartments so close to the Thames. “This is bollocks, nice bollocks though,” www.bibliotastic.com

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he mumbled to himself, causing a passing couple to avoid eye contact with him. ‘Time for Paddington,’ he thought, ‘I’m early, lads on the ship reckon they’d found bargain hookers there, hum, I’ll see what’s on offer if there’s time. He set off for West London. “Paddington Station, here you are,” he muttered, “and I’m early, Bring on the girls.” “Chris, Chris,” came Eddie’s calls. He was of medium build and in his early forties; with his holiday camp dress sense and clean cut good looks, he was easy to spot. “Thank mermaids you’re here. I had to get an early train, my parents were driving me fucking mad, good job they don’t sell guns in Woolworth’s.” “Calm down, I was just about to get laid so I’d like to shoot your parents too. Nice hair.” “Thanks, let’s get over to this pub of your mate’s, now.” The two men queued up at the station taxi rank for a few minutes. “In a cab heading for a good night out, nothing changes,” said Eddie. “Nor should it,” replied Chris. Their cab pulled up outside the Two Buttocks. It was closed. Eddie’s jaw dropped. “Fucking Osborne, if I wanted to see a closed pub, I could have stayed in poxy Newbury” “Shut the fuck up man, Norman is inside working, come on.” Chris knocked on the door. “This is better man, a closed pub and I’m on the inside,” shouted Eddie as Doc let them in. “Shush Eddie, you’re not on board now, settle down,” advised Chris. Norman greeted them, introductions were lengthy, drinks were poured and it was Eddie that proposed a toast, “To Sunday, this Sunday. What you got on here tonight guys?” “It’s Sunday night at the Two Buttocks,” explained Doc. “Well it would be and,” replied Eddie. “O.K. we have top of the bill Bungalow Bill, some live Reggae from Rasta Man. My good self and Norman will plug some gaps. Then there should be a few auditions up, if they can find the Venue. Plus of course our Comedy Disco, I mean Fiasco and I nearly forgot, our special surprise audition guest, Eddie.” “Money good?” asked Eddie

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“The word audition, means you don’t get paid,” replied Norman. “Great racket mate, I’ll try that on the ship. Anyway put me down for an hour.” “You got 5 minutes, Eddie what?” asked Doc. “Just Eddie,” he replied. “O.K Eddie Just, how’s that sound?” “Like a sixties pop star, call me Eddie Blizzard or I don’t go on.” “That sounds like a fifties pop star, but it’s a deal, you drive a hard bargain.” insisted Doc. Eddie and Chris took themselves and their drinks to a table well away from the stage. “Best let them get set up now,” suggested Chris. Doc whispered to Norman he would like a few private words in the office. They wandered off, Norman wearing a nervous look. Both sat in the office. Doc broke the silence, “I had a phone-call today, at home, from Nigel. He’s coming back, which is good; he’ll stay up at the flat with us. I need to mention something though re. Nigel. You know he was pretty fucked up in his head, that’s why he went home to his family. Well, the reason was Norman, he had been having a relationship with Betsy, and she dumped him. Not long before you dropped onto our planet, they were an item. He was living in, the, apartment. Her parents bought that, so she’d have a nice place of her own. You see Nigel is about your age, Betsy of course thirtyish. He thought it was forever. But Betsy isn’t up for that. She comes from a wealthy back round and she isn’t going marry one of you poor bastards. One day when the time is right, she’ll go back to Norfolk and marry some rich farmer, but in the meantime grab it and shag it Norman, she’s hot. Sorry but with Nigel coming back.” “Thanks for telling me Doc, Nigel and I will not be crossing swords, not quite.” The two men returned to work, Doc wandering what Norman’s last comment had meant. Norman was excited by Doc’s news. It was still an hour or so before opening, Doc took the orders for the chip shop. He soon returned, all now gathered at one large table. Some of the bar staff swelled their numbers. The noise of eating gave the venue an atmosphere of troops before battle. Lenny barged in, “This place stinks of fish and chips guys, I’m going to open some windows. Let’s get professional here.” “He’s right, it takes the doorman to get us back on track,” announced Doc as Lenny spotted Mr. Patel and Co. arriving and let them in.

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“Don’t pay us any attention boys, we’ll just reserve our table till you’re ready, good evening everybody.” Said Mr. Patel most humbly. “This place is weird,” whispered Eddie to the others as he and Chris returned to their table. “So who you going to be tonight Eddie?” enquired Chris. “Make em laugh son, just make em laugh.” “How?” “I got five minutes man, that’s all, by the time I introduce myself, it’s time to say goodbye. I will just tell ‘em a joke, just one. You know why, no. I’ll tell you why. Only one joke only one possible failure, right. I throw in a few half funnies as I go along, if the punch line doesn’t hit the spot, it’s not a problem, you’ll see, they’ll still applaud me, bet you and my hair looks cool.” “This crowd will not be your cruisers you know Eddie, this is an alternative comedy venue.” “They are just fucking punters man, Joe public, bet me.” “No, you want another drink?” “Just a large one.” Lenny opened up, after he had been round twice with the fresh air spray that was giving Mr. Patel a coughing fit. “I preferred the fish and chips smell,” joked Eddie. There had been a queue and they filed in, handing over their hard earned cash as if in search of some Holy Grail. Soon they were throwing even more money over the bar, which reminded the bar staff of why they were there. Patrick only employed attractive females, there were, ‘Tits everywhere, he would often comment and the busier the bar the more they wobbled up and down, he would advise the customers as if it was like some old fairground game.’ “Roll up and put your money in the till and see the action,” he shouted in his charming Irish accent.” None of this was wasted on Mr. Patel he admired the girls every move. They were aware of his eyes fixed on them, it made them feel uneasy, except Lisa, she boasted, “I’d fuck him for a grand, but I’d fuck anybody for a grand.” Within an hour and a half the venue was packed out, it was very noisy. Doc insulted the audience and the auditions got underway. Eddie would go up last after a special introduction. He now waited his call in a subdued manner. Chris noticed a change in his mate and wandered if he could and

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would produce the goods he had promised. Eddie smiled as he watched the auditions struggling to break through. Without notice Doc closed that part of the show with the announcement of a special audition still to come, “Here at the World famous Two Buttocks, the true home of comedy we bring you another, yes another first. A special audition act, yes a truly international audition act live-ish right now. He’s just back from entertaining our boys and girls on the high seas, it’s Mr. Eddie Blizzard, yes that’s Blizzard folks.” Eddie, set off towards the stage. He grabbed his beer and Chris’ cigarettes. “Save your applause for the ones that are getting paid,” Quipped Eddie. “They won’t feel guilty taking their wages and you won’t feel you’ve been ripped off. Don’t point them at me love, they might go off. Everyone’s a winner, what about those old sayings though, old wives tales. Hard work will not kill you, what, do you know in the developed countries work is still the biggest killer, honest. Two can live as cheaply as one, that’s a double lie, that one. One can’t even live cheaply; two can live twice as expensively as one it should be. A problem shared is a problem halved. No, a problem shared is in fact a problem doubled. Opposites attract, bollocks, however, with that in mind I will now, if I may, share with you a recent family problem, as I feel so relaxed in your company. My brother and sister- in-law have a teenage daughter. Claudia, their only child, yeah they tried it once and didn’t like it, you know the sort of family I’m talking about. Sad with a capitol F. Claudia has had a sheltered life, well nearly. Little while ago they all visited the Zoo. As Claudia is nearly seventeen, she was allowed to wander off on her own. After a while her parents hear this siren and see zookeepers running towards a large cage. They decide to be nosey ‘Perhaps someone has fallen in with the lions, that’s handy,’ said her Dad switching on his cam-corder. When they catch up with the crowd, they discover Claudia is the centre of attention. A massive gorilla has, well let’s say tried it on with her. She is traumatised but unharmed. The family leave the Zoo rather embarrassed Kids! Any way back home Claudia goes into a sulk, will not come out of her room, won’t eat. After a couple of weeks her mother decides, enough is enough. A woman-to-woman chat is needed. ‘Claudia, we know you had a traumatic experience, but the Doctor says you are fine and must forget it, move on. So tell me Claudia what is it? What is the matter dear?’ Claudia spoke, at last. ‘He hasn’t phoned or come round or even written!’ The crowd laughed enough, “The old ones are the best,” shouted Eddie, “jokes, women, cars, shoes, whiskey. Have a good week, if you aint coming back, have a good life. Night-night.”

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Eddie launched a doll he had quickly made up out of balloons out over the crowd. Doc shook his head at Norman, both men smiled. Eddie had passed his audition. Even Mr. Patel laughed as the life size doll flew by his table. Doc took over the stage to introduce an audition, the Bag Lady. She clambered up onto the stage, cursing everything and everybody. Doc rejoined Norman. “I guess you could do a spot tonight Zen, we’ll split the middle act, ten minutes each,” suggested Doc, “You first.” “Sure, I got some ideas,” replied Norman, “this Bag Lady’s a bit rough Doc.” “Yeah, but it works well, a great character. Shush listen to her.” “I told the old bill, I was graped down the market. You mean raped Madam said this snooty little bastard. No I sez, there was a bunch of them.” Eddie was now watching the Bag Lady with Chris they laughed. A few of the audience passed by, they wanted to know more about Eddie. He obliged, even handing out bogus business cards with a fictitious web-site address. “You’re so full of bullshit man,” remarked Chris. “Yeah I know,” replied Eddie, “but I mean well. You will need to get Norman down to Kings cross tomorrow first thing for some jabs, at the hospital of course, if he’s coming with us, right.” “Sure,” replied Chris, handing back one of the business cards. The night was going so well that Mr. Patel could spare his ears the comedy disco. He had seen enough. He called Norman over, “We will go now my boy,” he whispered, “I see that Paddy’s goose is laying yet another golden egg. We will meet tomorrow, mid-day here if it suits you. I’ll take you for lunch after, my place, my treat, just us.” Norman just nodded and smiled. Doc arrived at Eddie and Chris’ table, “Hey Eddie, would you do an intro for Norman, I mean Zen, please.” Eddie jumped up and made his way up onto the stage. “Testing, testing, one two, one two. Is it switched on?” He banged the microphone like a steward at a working men’s’ club. “Yes I think it’s switched on now, testing, testing, yes that’s better. More treble please, thank you, can you hear me at the back? The lady by the fire exit, no there’s not a fire dear, can you hear me love, put your hand up if you can hear me. No, over here love, you can’t hear me, you can hear me. Well make up your fucking mind love, we are trying to do a show, a show dear. O.K. she can hear me, great. Before I make an announcement, the committee has asked me to remind you the Two Buttocks fridge magnets are on sale behind the bar. All proceeds go to a www.bibliotastic.com

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good cause, to send Stan and Joan’s daughter Beryl to America for Silicon breast implants. Now back to the evening’s entertainment. It is my privilege as joint acting secretary of this establishment to welcome on stage, a young man with a big dick, yes it’s Mr. Zen Warwickshire. Ladies and gentlemen give the lad a big round of applause. Zen the stage is yours son.” Norman arrived pan faced. The crowd went quiet and attentive; some knew Zen as Norman the doorman, some as the venue manager, some as Zen. Some had even heard the name on the circuit not knowing it was Norman. Nearly a minute passed without a Zen moment. Suddenly he pulled a box of matches from his jacket pocket. He showed the crowd they were real, even lighting one as final proof. He walked away from centre stage having placed the box on the floor on its end. Then turning to the crowd, took his jacket off and started to clap his hands above his head. Eddie joined in and the clapping soon spread through the audience. Zen lined himself up with the matchbox and after some athletic type final preparations, he ran towards the box jumping over it. The crowd lead by Eddie cheered. Zen looked back at the box with a desperate expression, then clenched his fist and turned to the crowd to take their applause. On queue one of the barmaids walked on stage and presented him with a pint jug, he spoke, “I’d just like to say, a big thank you to all my friends and family for supporting me, believing in me and saving me all their empty matchboxes to practice on. But it’s not all me, me, me. I just hope that I will be an inspiration to other young kids growing up rough on the streets of Golders Green. I’ve been there, done that, got the skullcap. But it doesn’t have to be like that, the Zen Warwickshire and Jonathon Backwards foundation sponsored by Red Light matches now offers real hope to others that want to pursue extremely silly sports. Thank you.” Doc was caught out by Norman’s abrupt finish, leaving the stage lights up. The crowd presumed they were getting more. Norman just walked back on held up his trophy kissed it and left the stage again. This time Doc still surprised by the Zen act did blackout the stage. Norman slipped backstage to the office to continue with the paperwork that Mr. Patel would wish to inspect the next day. The Fiasco played on. “That was weird,” said Chris. “Very alternative, as long as he can blow up balloons he’s got the job,” replied Eddy. “I wander where he’s gone, I’ll go check him out.” “Sure, on your way back if you pass the bar mines a large one.” Chris took off in search of Norman after Doc pointed him in the right direction.

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“Mind if I join you Eddie,” asked Doc as he sat down. “Be honoured Doc, want me to introduce you too?” “How did you guess?” “Male intuition Doc, same style do you?” “Yeah, that was fine, good idea. What do you make of Zen?” “Takes bottle that sort of thing, but I think your crowd is up for it. Wonderful thing entertainment, they should let those Palestinians into that Eurovision Song Contest you know, after all Israel is in it. That’s probably what’s causing most of that problem.” “Are you serious, Eddie or what!” “What, actually.” “Interesting theory though, the simplest solutions are often over-looked and I’ve never understood why our Foreign Minister is never foreign.” They were joined by Norman. Chris was still at the bar. “Where is that retched boy,” asked Eddie, “man shouldn’t be dieing of thirst in a pub, imagine if the papers got hold of this story.” Chris arrived with the drinks swimming in the tray. “Never think he is a waiter, would you?” asked Eddie, “Look he’s still rolling with the ship.” The four laughed. Eddie headed off to the stage. Once in position, he banged the microphone, “Ladies and Gentleman I have an announcement to make.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, along with a pair of glasses. “It has come to the attention of the committee, that certain members of the Two Buttocks Working Men’s’ Club have been removing the toilet rolls from the lavatories thus causing much distress to other folk. If this continues the committee will have to withdraw the two-ply extra soft toilet paper and put on sale behind the bar, individual toilet tissue packs, thank you. Now it is time to move on again with the entertainment, so without further ado here he is The, Spin, Doctor, funny name! Is that right aye?” “Yes thank you very much Eddie, he’s doing a great job tonight. Yes I’m the Spin Doctor. Do you ever ask yourselves, why is there only one monopolies commission? Should Gays be allowed to vote? Should the homeless be tagged? Should women have to take the same driving test as men? Was there Football on Mars? How many sides has a football got? Two aye, you cleaver fucker, want a job? Did Jesus just heal those people with Germolene? All questions that need answering. And what was that? That Meatloaf would not do for love? The mind boggles; I would have thought that guy would do anything, Oh how we laughed. Let’s get back to football, www.bibliotastic.com

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Wembley Stadium, why knock it down? Oh yeah, I forgot, to build a new one. For what reason, sweet F.A. So why don’t all old buildings get replaced then? New Stone Henge, the New Pyramids.” Norman, Chris and Eddie had got chatting, having lost interest in Doc and the Two Buttocks. Norman called a waitress over with more drinks. “So Norman,” said Chris “is this a farewell drink to all this.” Norman nodded, “Oh shit,” he said, “I forgot to sort things out with Ernest and Katie, about your gear. I’ll pop round to the Prince, just catch them for last orders and see you in fifteen. Oh shit it’s their birthday and I haven’t got them a present.” “No probs just tell ‘em you’re leaving, that’ll make their day special,” said Chris, as he and Eddie laughed at Doc doing a Tony Blair impersonation followed by David Blunkett looking for weapons of mass destruction. “Now you know why David Blunkett, shouldn’t be Prime Minister, talk about the blind leading the blind or what,” he screamed. “This is another World Chris,” said Eddie. “But give me the open sea any day.” Doc was off stage before Norman returned, making his way back to Eddie and Chris. “I’ve sorted things out, Ernest and Katie know I’m off too. We are always welcome to use the room when we’re in London guys,” announced Norman. “And they weren’t born on the same day Chris, you fucking wind-up merchant. They just celebrate the two at once, as they’re close.” “Bet they think we’re going back to war.” “No you silly fucker, they were winding you up, they know you’re on the cruisers, I forgot that I must have told them about you. I’ll pick up your worldlies tomorrow lunchtime.” “I’ll head back with Eddie first thing to his folks in Newbury,” offered Chris, “give you space to sort things out with Betsy. If, sorry, when she kicks you out, you can use that room and then meet up with us at the ship. Don’t forget first thing tomorrow your jabs and my worldlies.” Norman nodded. The music stopped as Bungalow Bill had decided against Doc’s wishes to introduce himself, this novel idea had the crowd in fits of laughter and became half of his act. Norman, Chris and Eddie all studied him and enjoyed being insulted along with the audience. He finished by singing the Long and Whinging Road.

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Doc had decided this night to put Rasta on last, as he introduced himself he pointed to a loud speaker, “Magic box speak-um,” he announced. This Doc funny went down well with the crowd. The live music finished off the show in the most perfect way; with the help of a Doc Reggae composition, ‘Lord of de tings.’ Rasta had brought along his next-door neighbour to play bongos, ‘Unpaid of course,’ Doc had insisted. Lenny was fairly swift sending people on their way Sundays, reminding them they had work the next day. By 1 o’clock the evening was just a collection of blurred memories as a few staff hung back for a free late drink. Doc had left. A taxi hooted at 2.30 to take Norman, Chris and Eddie back to the apartment. They had agreed there was no need for a game of cards as Betsy would be pissed off enough as it was and they were shattered. Betsy was asleep; Norman quickly dimmed the lights and pointed the guys towards their sofas. Once in bed he whispered his explanations to Betsy, she responded. “If I didn’t know you better Norman I’d think you were perverted. You keep bringing all these strange men back after work are you trying to tell me something, trying to spice up our sex life?” “No it’s not like that honestly, just mates.” “Only joking dear, get some sleep because that’s all you are getting tonight, goodnight.” Norman slipped out of bed stumbling his way over to Chris. “Tell Eddie about the Police barge man, don’t want him getting freaked out like you did.” he whispered. Betsy was not amused trying to get to sleep to the sound of three men snoring in different keys and gave some serious thought to her situation before she was overcome by tiredness. The three men left early in the morning. Norman scribbled her a note, explaining he had much work to do at the pub and the guys had an early train to catch. The three travelled to the hospital, there Chris and Eddie left Norman in the queue for his jabs. They then made their way to Paddington Station for breakfast and their train journey to Newbury. Norman was still feeling a touch faint when he arrived at the Two Buttocks just after eleven. Pleased to have some time to finish the books off, he made himself a strong coffee and lit up a cigarette. By mid-day he had all the cash accounted for and was on his third coffee and cigarette when he heard the doorbell ring. It was Mr. Patel, Norman showed him through to the office. “Take a seat Mr. Patel.” “Thank you Norman, are you well.”

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“A little hung-over, to be honest.” “Ah I see, the old Devil drink. I have a motto, to only get drunk once a day, ha, ha, ha.” “I’ll certainly take your advice Mr. Patel, thank you, can I get you a gin and tonic.” “Yes please my boy, just a large one ha, ha, ha.” Mr.Patel glanced at his watch for approval. “Here we go then,” Norman returned from the bar. He poured himself yet another coffee. “Well Norman, I see your figures confirm the now obvious. Quite amazing. I never knew. Paddy tripped over a pot of gold when he met Doc. Alright Nancy still had to convince him to take that big step though. Terrible shame about Nancy, nice funeral. Were you there Norman? I didn’t notice.” “Yes Mr. Patel, we were very close friends.” “I see, sorry I had know idea.” “Neither did I at the time.” “We should move on, as I was saying. A plan, solution you could say to apply here. Paddy as we know did not do so well here last year and the comedy was slow to get going.” Mr. Patel winked, “therefore it is only reasonable that after the alterations that were made here to allow the comedy a better facility and the increased advertising that, business should have increased to the present level. So now we can just bank everything as normal for Paddy, I will keep the books going and authorise the outgoing payments. It will be business as usual, all your jobs are safe, very safe in fact. I will write those cheques now. Just pass me the list please.” With his gold pen and with scrupulous consideration he made out the requested cheques. “Now Norman I have decided to make an extra payment to you, call it a loyalty payment re the Lenny factor.” He handed over £500 in cash to Norman. “I will see Paddy gets his share also of course.”

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Chapter Twelve - What a Difference a Week Makes

“This is awkward Mr. Patel.” “I do not understand, Norman, a well deserved bonus surely and money we need to loose after Paddies dealings. We will also now you see, be able to pay you an increased salary.” “Well maybe, but.” Norman glanced at his salary cheque. “What is it Norman, we can only have one secret. No more.” “I’m afraid I have to leave here, move on, something’s come up, an opportunity.” “I understand that Norman, I arrived in England with only £5 you know.” “But I do have an idea, perhaps a solution for you Mr. Patel.” “I’m listening.” “I’m sure Doc would love to take over from me as well as continue to run the comedy. He would have Betsy to assist him, Patrick could become barmanager as he wants more work and Doc’s former partner Nigel returns this week from a long holiday. Oh and Lenny could be your Head of Security, part-time of course. You see I would not be missed at all Mr. Patel.” “I know, you may be indispensable but never irreplaceable. When will you want to leave?” “My ship literally sails this Thursday.” “You’re now going on a holiday!” “No, I wish. I’m going to work on a passenger cruiser” “You call that work? I wish. You must arrange a meeting for me Wednesday mid-day would be best. Please bring all those you mentioned, do they know?” “Not quite yet, I’m working on it.” “You guys really are comedians, please bring them all here Norman, no need for Lenny to attend though, just ask him to turn up for work Thursday night please.” “Of course Mr. Patel.”

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“Now I was going to feed you, but as you will be busy, we’ll conclude our business for today. I will however be pleased to entertain all of you on Wednesday. A farewell lunch for you Norman. We will still meet up here first though, goodbye then.” Mr. Patel placed all the takings and paperwork into his large briefcase. Norman escorted him to the door; one of his large minders was waiting to open the car door. Norman waved them off then poured a whisky to help him face the rest of the day. He was pleased to receive a call from Doc wanting news of Paddy and the future of the venue. “The news is great for you Doc and the others” “All of us, what does that mean Zen.” Norman lit a cigarette, “ Funny you should ask me that; I’m off mate. Time to move on. ” “O.K. but tell me more.” “I’m going off on the cruise ship with Chris and Eddie, part of the entertainment team.” “O.K. tell me even more.” “Well I have suggested to Mr. Patel that you take over as venue general manager, Betsy to assist you, Patrick bar manager and Nigel would fit in somewhere. So what do you think?” “Aha, we’re only making plans for Nigel. When exactly do you sail, Norman pray tell.” “Thursday.” “Thursday, I see. Does Betsy know? Because I guess the rest of us will be cool with this news. Not that we won’t miss you.” “I will tell her today.” “Good luck, hide all the sharp knives first. I’ll talk to the others, call you tomorrow.” “Just one thing, Mr. Patel wishes to meet us all Wednesday mid-day at the pub. Then take us all for the last supper; for me that is, at his restaurant.” “O.K. the guys will be there, I’ll leave the job of getting Betsy there with you old sport.” “Thanks, no problem as Rasta would say, see you Wednesday Doc.” Norman poured another scotch. Drunk was definitely the best way to handle Betsy. He took his jacket off relaxed and wandered round the Two www.bibliotastic.com

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Buttocks. Many memories entered his mind, then mixed in with the scotch and were drowned. Now seated at the very table he had shared with Chris and Eddie the previous night he struggled to imagine confronting Betsy with his news. The scotch on optic was staring at him like a challenge that he rose to. Soon it was empty as was his cigarette pack. Without success he fumbled and even talked to the cigarette machine on his way out of the pub. The effect of his jabs had now kicked in, only instinct got him to the nearest mini-cab office. As a well-known regular he was accepted and well looked after. At the apartment he struggled with the front door, having never been this drunk in his life, he was relieved that Betsy was not at home as he was now hallucinating. He dived at the bed; it was late afternoon the apartment was dark enough for the escape he now needed. Betsy returned to the apartment at 7 o’clock. The chiming clock she had inherited from her Grandmother struck out, this and the lights woke Norman, his being fully clothed concerned Betsy. Norman stirred slowly, searching his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. Betsy threw him a pack. “Coffee would be essential,” he said in a gruff voice staggering off to the toilet. On his return coffee was served. Betsy looked apprehensive. They sat at the dining table in front of the opened balcony doors. “Phew, thanks I feel better,” said Norman sipping coffee, “I drank two pints of water in the bathroom, but I still needed this. Mr. Patel is a bad influence on me.” “I doubt that dear, however I’m sure you have an explanation.” “Well funny you should ask me that, I do and I don’t. I’m leaving the Two Buttocks. Taking a job with Eddie.” “So you’ll be home late for dinner some nights, as Eddie works on a friggin cruise ship.” “Could be, several months late actually.” “You’re dumping me Norman?” “Not as such, look on it as promotion, if you like.” “Promotion if I like, what the fuck does that mean Zen?” “Well I have suggested to Mr. Patel you should become Assistant General Manager.” “And what am I now?” “Assistant Pub Manager and you help Doc out with the entertainment as well.”

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“And who have you suggested to Mr. Patel he should make General Manager?” “Well Doc of course.” “Well Doc of course, of course! Anything else?” “Yes, Nigel will also work with Doc and Patrick can manage the bar.” “I had a fucking nightmare like this once Norman, I ended up killing somebody. I hope you packed your things before you got round to giving me this news flash on my life.” “I’ll do it after one more coffee; what should I tell Mr. Patel, do you want the job?” “No! Fuck you Norman. Now it’s time for your news flash. I’ve just returned from our local estate agents. They will take over the letting and management of this very desirable apartment. From this weekend it will become a rented property and I can even leave my car here. So maybe I will go on a cruise!” “You know something I don’t know you know?” “Lots of things I would hope, but only two you need to know. One your homeless.” “I guess this is Instant Karma, do carry on though.” “Two, you know when I came home yesterday, Chris was here. He was feeling guilty and he told me he was trying to drag you off to sea, but he just knows how you feel about me. So, he offered me a job, on the ship. It’s great Norman, we don’t get to share a cabin but that makes it even spicier. What do you say? Please be happy.” “Sure I am. My head has been spinning that’s why I got drunk today. This is just perfect; Chris is one hell of a guy. I owe that dog, big time. So I don’t have to pack?” “Course not, well not yet. We sail Thursday, it’s nearly Tuesday. Let’s not waist time honey.” Betsy started to undress whilst she remained seated at the table sipping her coffee and smoking, now naked from the waist up. Norman was enjoying the moment as she stroked her breasts. “There’s nothing on the tele tonight, how about an early night. We got two busy days if we got-to get out of this place, as the song goes.” Norman got up and walked off to the shower room. On his return Betsy was in bed, she wrapped herself around him before his head hit the pillow as if trying to prove a point. They made love in an unmemorable way, Betsy

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soon fell asleep. Norman got up and dressed, he returned to the table, pouring himself a large glass of red wine, lit a cigarette and settled down to take stock of his life. With Betsy now snoring he reached for the phone. “Chris, is that you man?” “Yes, Norman how goes it?” “You ask me how goes it, I’ve just found out that you have offered Betsy a job on the ship because I couldn’t be dragged away from her. How does it go Chris?” “I just thought when it came to the crunch, she would talk you out of it. So I leant you a helping hand. She’s already got all the jabs man when she travelled the world last year. Norman this fucking ship is like the Titanic apart from it floats. It’s enormous man, you’d hardly ever see her, it’s like a City on the sea. Trust me, besides she’s a bit laddish Norman, she’d soon find someone else to shag, I wouldn’t mind, no only joking. Besides I got her a job as a food and beverage supervisor, she will have to work even harder than the morons she’s supervising. She will be exhausted Norman, when she’s off duty she’ll be sleeping. Now what do you say?” “Try anything once I guess and she’s as good as let the apartment now anyway, I’ve given in my notice at the Two Buttocks, Doc’s accepted my job and I didn’t have these jabs for fun, my arm aches.” “I’ll take that as a yes then Norman shall I? Now can I get back to watching porno on the wide screen please?” “I take it Eddies parents are out then.” “Yeah Monday night, line dancing.” “What’s line dancing? No-matter. Call me in the morning to confirm Thursday.” “Sure thing, relax Norman, go and shag Betsy while she’s still got the energy.” Norman sat back; relaxed, sighed and considered the red wine box, “3 litres aye, French suicide, what a way to go, it’s a challenge,” He poured another full glass, placed it on top of Betsy’s piano sat down and started to play. Having had many years of piano lessons as a child he had no problem bringing the instrument to life. The apartment was filled with music and emotion, Norman listened and watched his hands as they seemed to move on their own. “Oh fucking hell, I wish I could sing,” he shouted getting up and pouring another large red wine and lighting a cigarette before slumping into a sofa. How Betsy had ever slept through his concerto for two fingers he would never know; however he thought if a wine box was a more attractive

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proposition than your girlfriend, anything was possible in life. His eyes blurred before he finished the drink and he fell into the deepest of sleep. “What the fuck is that,” screamed Betsy as she heard Norman’s mobile Peer Gynt ring-tone. Norman rushed round the apartment in a state of shock, brought on by Betsy’s screams and was further confused by the darkness and his fully clothed state. He tracked down his phone then the answer button, “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered down the receiver. “Fucking hell Norman, are you on the job or what, is Betsy underneath you as we speak? Is the scaffolding up mate?” “Shush Chris, what is it man, when is it? Oh no.” “Excuse me, you did say to phone you with times for Thursday yeah!” “Yes, O.K. what time is?” “ Now! 8 o’clock, to keep it easy we meet at eight on Thursday at Southampton station.” “We’ll be there, where ever Southampton is, go back to your porno movies now, chow.” Betsy joined him on the sofa, “Let’s have an, us day. Our last full day here together.” “Sure, you could take me on a magical mystery tour. But first I need a huge breakfast.” “You’ll have a healthy breakfast, go and have a shower, I’ll cook.” Betsy cooked up scrambled eggs and beans served on brown toast her favourite, followed by white toast and thick cut marmalade. Norman produced a pot of strong coffee. Betsy insisted he have an orange juice first. They enjoyed their meal together, finished off with the first shared cigarette of the day. They were closer than they had been; with no more work to consider at the Two Buttocks Norman felt his mind clear of life’s clutter. Mid morning they wandered off under a sunny London sky into the bitter cold streets that led to Tower Bridge. They crossed the Thames on Betsy’s planned tour. She took Norman onto the Docklands railway and down to Garden Island station. They then used the old wooden lift down to the tunnel walk under the Thames to Greenwich. Betsy broke their silence. “We should have borrowed a couple of Doc’s kids, could have played happy families.” “Or unhappy families, replied Norman.” “Better still.”

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They boarded the Cutty Sark. “Some practice for Thursday Norman, I thought.” “Hardly.” Betsy soon got bored, dragging Norman off to the park and then into a favourite Italian Restaurant of hers. “Another meal already,” he asked. “I know you found breakfast light, she replied, “They do great snacks here and red wine.” The pair spent nearly two hours on their snack and bottle of wine each. The restaurant was Quiet; the staff remembered Betsy from her spell of living in the area. “Soon places like this will be lost forever,” announced Betsy. “What do you mean?” “Anti smoking legislation Norman, will kill off moments like this.” She lit another cigarette, deliberately blowing the smoke in the direction of the nonsmoking area. “This World is so fucked up now. We are allowed to buy cigarettes but not to smoke them, what the fuck are we supposed to do with them. You can now get a bigger fine for smoking one than for taking drugs. Perhaps that’s the answer stop smoking 99% Taxed cigarettes and start smoking 0% Taxed de-bush-man. I’ve paid to educate other peoples’ kids through smoking, I should have been in the New Years Honours List, not most wanted list. Then drinking, we have to support the Drinks Industry, Ernest, Katie, Lenny plus a million others, but we mustn’t get pissed up as we puke into the Chancellors brief case and behave badly or we get arrested. It’s the same with fucking cars, the Government wants us to buy them to keep some trade agreement it’s made with some fucking country it’s scared of and then not use them. They even need us to buy petrol at 99% Tax for what, to fund wars to build the American Empire, so what are we suppose to use this petrol for, they keep telling us we should only use Pubic Transport no I don’t mean Public. Maybe we should pour our booze down the sink fill the empty bottles with petrol stick a fag in the top and sell them to football hooligans. So what will be next? Right now we got the great Junk food debate, we need to support the Fast Food Industry, buying their food, but, yes, you got it, we mustn’t eat it, cause if we do and get fat it cost the Tax-Man to put us back together again, with the Tax money from our, ciggies, booze, petrol and junk-food. So soon you’ll light up a fag whilst you’re pissed at a drive-in McDonalds’ and the Police arrest you, up to your eyeballs in legal taxable past-times. Then you’ll get locked up in a cell you’re taxes are paying for anyway and the following morning be ordered to pay fucking Court Costs

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for the privilege of getting fined. It’s just not a perfect World. Nigel doesn’t smoke, fucking nerd.” “If that’s the end of your Political Broadcast on behalf of the Betsy Party, then let’s go.” Betsy summoned the waiter, and then sent him packing with one of her many credit cards, more than Norman knew existed. The waiter returned for Betsy’s signature, “Please get us a cab to Tower Bridge.” He nodded. “Glad you know a short cut home,” said Norman. “We’ve done enough fresh air today.” Their cab driver tapped on the restaurant window, they shook hands with all the staff on the way out. Norman was finding the scenery back to the apartment a total contrast from the railway journey earlier. “Now you can see how the other half live in London Norman, not a pretty site,” sighed a cynical Betsy as they were driven through a vastly populated area “it’s a poverty trap.” Their cab soon rolled over the cobble stone courtyard stopping just outside their front door. Inside the apartment temperature was up in the high eighties. Betsy opened the balcony doors. Norman poured two large red wines. They took a sofa each to sink into, but Betsy was soon hunting through her video collection till she found one of her cherished tapes. She put it on the big screen, Norman was intrigued. “It’s Roman Polanski’s Cul-de-sac,” announced Betsy, “look at that scene, where do think it’s filmed? The North East of England, would you believe, Lindisfarne. There, even I could meditate.” They settled down for the film. Neither spoke till it finished. Norman exclaimed, “That was fucking great, got any more.” “It’s time for my shagging now, you know what Zen says about sex?” He shook his head. “No me neither, let’s find out. I’ll sort you out a film for later if you really want.” She switched off the screen and in the winter darkened afternoon she undressed on her way to the shower. Norman followed, they washed each other, dried off slightly and got into bed. After a very memorable sexual encounter they both fell into an alcohol induced sleep. It was early evening before Betsy woke up Norman. She was hunting for another video for him to watch.

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“Here’s a great one,” she shouted, “Orson Wells Mac Beth.” She put it on, providing a rather bizarre backdrop to their cosy evening in. They opened lots of packet snacks and another bottle of wine. “I lent this tape to Doc once.” “Did he like it?” “Oh you know what a pratt Doc can be sometimes. He reckons Shakespeare was just in the right place at the right time.” “What Warwickshire.” “I think he was just trying to be clever.” “Well I’m enjoying it.” Betsy smiled at him, pleased that their time together was working out so well; she loved constant companionship in small doses and knowing a day was long enough retreated to her bed for sleep before the film ended. Norman watched it through till the end before waking her for sex, she obliged and after they both fell together into deep sleep. “It’s friggin Wednesday and you know what that means, we have a mountain to climb today having left everything to the very last.” “Yes dear, I’ll get started on the breakfast, go and shower, don’t forget to scrub your dick” The pair were soon finishing off their usual breakfast at speed. “I got to get sorted out at the pub to hand over to Doc and Mr. Patel by mid-day Betsy.” “Off you go then, I’ll not join you boys for lunch, got to sort this place out for letting.” “I’m tempted to skip the lunch myself, must stay sober to say farewell to Ernest and Katie.” “I’ll give that one a miss too, now off you go Norman and climb your mountain.” Betsy sighed as she heard the apartment door slam. With her minimal possessions she would be packed up by early afternoon in time for a courier to take away her two storage boxes. Norman was hard at work in the Two Buttocks as Doc arrived proclaiming he’d, ‘Discovered a new act, Bill Poster, should be a good replacement here for you Norm.’

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“Good, just thought I’d get the place cleaned up a bit and ready for your Thursday Doc.” “Thank you Norman always a gentleman. Let me help. But we must leave some work for the others. What time will Betsy be here?” “She isn’t coming Doc.” “I’ll sack her, only joking.” “She’s sacked herself Doc; she’s coming on the cruise with me and the lads.” “Good job really, I can just imagine you two in the cruise-ship panto; no I can’t, yes I can. Nigel is expected any minute by the way.” Norman had gone through all the paperwork with Doc by the time the others arrived. Mr. Patel gave a lecture to Doc, Nigel and Patrick on what he expected from the new team as he called them. He concluded, “So Betsy has left that’s a shame, a pretty girl, you’ll all have to work a little harder now I’m afraid.” With the hand over completed. There was talk of lunch and Norman reluctantly agreed to join the others after he had visited the brewery. They all departed the Two Buttocks at the same time. At the brewery Lenny welcomed Norman who explained he was leaving the Country but that he had secured Lenny’s job at the Two Buttocks. In her office Katie was pleased to see her nephew, soon they were joined by Ernest, “She don’t normally let me up ere,” said Ernest. “Just look ow the other half lives.” They both insisted Norman keep his keys to the house as they wished him the best of luck on his first cruise. “What shall I tell your parents,” enquired Katie “You’ll think of something, Auntie knows best,” were his parting words. Having stopped of on route at the house to collect Chris’ worldlies Norman arrived at the restaurant in time for the main course.

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Chapter Thirteen - No Free Lunches

Norman having said his farewells decided to relax and enjoy. He was close to Doc and would miss him. Patrick was a mate also and if Nigel had read the Zen book and hadn’t had a breakdown, Norman might not have done lots of things. So with his pockets full of the money from Mr. Patel this was certainly great company to dine with. The meal ran well into the afternoon. Soon the other lunch- time diners had gone back to work leaving Mr. Patel to indulge his new staff and Norman. Nigel’s medication mixed with strong lager loosened him up, “People just don’t fucking get it,” he announced, “ the reason Saddam Hussein didn’t want those fucking Weapons Inspectors in Iraq is because he did not want his enemies to find out he did not have any Weapons of Mass Destruction; it was so fucking obvious.” He then changed topics with a nervous twitch and amused all but their host with an account of how he kept his sanity whilst staying with his parents, ‘By inventing a new religion; whilst visiting their local church which is now a Wetherspoons; where somebody told him the World was flat. Following on from that revelation he amazed even his fellow comedians as he explained how he had also applied for various advertised jobs. Supplying a false name and address he would write the weirdest things he could think up; then get a real buzz on the days he calculated them being read. He had on one application in the health section, under are you taking any medication, written Viagra.’ After a few more examples of how Nigel had in fact lost his sanity, Mr. Patel put the four men in one large taxi and waved them off. Norman was first to be dropped off, there were many more handshakes and nearly tears, “Best wishes to Betsy, tell her to send us a card and you,” shouted Patrick as Norman waved them off. Doc and Nigel avoided eye contact with him as they waved back. Nigel still on a roll started to tell Doc and Patrick, ‘Of his invention of the alphabetically indexed photo album, Ladies urinal, radiator magnets and of course their rejection by the powers that be.’ “Still comes in handy then Nigel, that Degree in arbitrary measurement,” concluded Doc. Inside the apartment looked much different on Norman’s return. Betsy had placed his enormous case up against a wall; it looked like a wardrobe on wheels. “That’ll be about all that will fit in your cabin Norman.”

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“Where’s your luggage then.” “She pointed to a large hold-all next to the bed and her handbag. “That’s me Zen and my Walkman of course. We will need to eat take-a-ways tonight I’ve cleaned the cooking area.” “I’ll just have some of your left-overs, I went for that lunch.” “And you’re still sober?” “We did more talking than drinking I guess.” “Boys talk!” “Mens’ talk actually.” “Anyway you’re home dear. How was Nigel?” “How did you know Nigel was there?” “Nigel miss a free meal, I don’t think so.” “He was fine, quiet, over you, I guess.” “Doc told you then, thought he would.” “Why not, avoids complications, the truth.” “The truth aye, I doubt you got that. Well I’m off for a huge shower, on, my, own.” With Betsy out of the room Norman played the piano, very loudly. Maybe I can do this on the cruise he considered, cocktail bar music. He played then softly for a while before preparing a pot of coffee. Betsy returned, Norman poured their drinks and even lit her up a cigarette. “I hope the frigging cruise isn’t no-smoking,” he said. “We’d have to jump ship.” Betsy laughed, then sat down and played her piano. She was brilliant and Norman was stunned as she rattled off some classics, old and new. “I never knew you could.” “Play so well.” “Yes, play some more please.” “No, I don’t want to break a fingernail.” They spent the evening almost like condemned prisoners in a luxury cell. Playing chess, till Norman gave up trying to win, watching the news channel before they would leave such things behind them and very late some food was delivered. After picking through dinner and emptying a red wine bottle www.bibliotastic.com

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it was time to sleep. With the alarm clock set for 5.am sex was not even considered. They both got up several times through the night; Norman finished packing his case, Betsy checking round the apartment. In the end they agreed to stay up for the rest of the night and Norman made his last pot of strong coffee. Before the alarm sounded they were ready, just airing away the last of the cigarette smoke with a wind blowing off the wharf tide. Norman was surprised as Betsy announced it time to leave t 5.30 as he was still expecting a taxi. He followed her outside. She slammed the front door and double locked it. “Well this is it, keys please,” she asked. “I said I’d post back a spare set for my new tenants. The agent has his set.” Norman watched as she pushed his keys through the letterbox, “Still no taxi Betsy.” “I’ll give you a lift Norman,” she replied, walking towards her car parked in the courtyard. “A lift, now I’m confused, I thought you were leaving the car.” “You thought many things Zen, but thinking is not really knowing. Get in.” Norman struggled to push his case and Chris’ carrier bags into the car, then himself. “First Norman, you thought you could pass me over like an old employee to a new boss, you probably thought it was handy with Nigel coming back. He could take your side of the bed over; he preferred the other side actually. But then a change of plan, alas your old school chum realises you may not have the nerve to run away to sea, so tells me that you are as good as in love with me so I will come and hold your hand up the fuckin gangway. I’m going hold your hand to the train and when you get off Chris can hold your hand up the fucking gangway, not me. I’m doing the dumping here Norman.” Silence fell on their journey to Waterloo which was quick in the early morning. “Here you are one railway station,” announced Betsy in the coldest possible tone. Norman squeezed her hand and spoke gently, “Thanks for, I trust you’ll have a great life, I’ll always remember us.” He closed the car door gently pulled his suitcase out of the hatchback, “I will always remember us,” he repeated before dropping closed the last door on their relationship. www.bibliotastic.com

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Betsy drove away slowly at first, then faster when nearly out of his sight. Norman would never know of the tears in her eyes and the pain in her heart as she headed home. Neither of them knowing yet she had conceived on Valentine’s Day. At the first set of traffic lights she had to stop, looking down she noticed under the dashboard, a book, a yellow post-it note on the cover read, ‘Nigel I never did finish this, but thanks for the loan, Norman.’ As the London train eased to a halt in Southampton, Chris and Eddie were waiting like excited teenagers for their friends. They spotted the lone figure of Norman ambling towards them. “Have you forgotten something,” asked Chris. “Yeah where’s Betsy?” enquired Eddie. “Knew I’d forgot something,” replied Norman. “No not Betsy, my worldlies!” exclaimed Chris. They hurried off the platform laughing, in search of breakfast and all swore to, “To live happily ever after.” Betsy drove back towards Tower Bridge and her next life. Her car soon rolled over the cobble stones in the courtyard; she parked up then re-entered her apartment. She picked up the keys that lay inside the doorway and laughed on her way through to opening the balcony doors, “Thank fuck for new days,” she screamed, “another chance to get it wrong, again.” She placed the Zen book beside the bed, and then quickly picked it up again returning to the balcony only to toss it into the Thames. As she watched the book floating off to the wharf‘s end with the post-it note flapping in the wind like a sail, she felt cold and remembered Norman’s imminent voyage. The door bell rang; she made her way thoughtfully over to the entryphone. “Delivery of storage boxes from Hampstead Madam.” “Nigel, it’s been a long time, come on in.”

THE END

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